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-^ 

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Coloured  covers/ 
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Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
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D 


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D 
D 
D 

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n 


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Ce  document  est  film6  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu6  ci-dessous. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

1 
I 

7 

1 

I 
1 

i 

12X 

16X 

20X 

24X 

28X 

32X 

The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'exemplaire  fiim6  fut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
g6n6rosit6  de: 

Bibliothdque  nationale  du  Canada 


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possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibii'ty 
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de  la  nettetd  de  l'exemplaire  film§,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


Original  copies  <n  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
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sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
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sion, and  ending  on  the  last  paye  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  —*>  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Les  axemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papiur  est  imprimde  sont  filmds  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
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plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film6s  en  commengant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — *>  signifie  "A  SUIVRE  ",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  etre 
filmds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Stre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichC,  il  est  f\\n\6  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  6  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

AMINTA 


A    MODERN    LIFE    DRAMA 


BY 


CORNELIUS   O'BRIEN,  D.  D. 

ARCHBISHOP  OF    HALIFAX 


/ 


NEW    YORK 
D.     APPLETON    AND    COMPA 

1890 


NY 


Copyright,  1890, 
By  D.   APPLETUN   AND   COMPANY, 


PREFACE, 


Poetry   is   condensed    thought    rhythmically 

expressed.     Only  the  cultured,  as    distinguished 

from   the  superficially   educated,   can   enjoy  and 

appreciate  it.     Hence  this  work  is  not  intended 

for  the  light  and  thoughtless,  but  for  those  who, 

having   received   a  liberal    education,    reflect  at 

times  on  the  unrest  of  modern  intellects,  and  seek 

to  learn  something  of  its  cause.     We  venture  to 

hope  that  such  as  these  will  find  that  new  ground 

in  poetry  has   been  broken.      It    is  a  very   real 

modern  life  drama. 

Halifax,  N.  S. 
Feast  of  the  Immaculate  Conception, 


f 


ST.   CECILIA. 


SONNET. 


A  SHELL  lies  silent  on  a  lonely  shore, 

High  rocks   and   barren   stand  with  frowning 
brow, 

Hither  no  freighted  ships  e'er  turn  their  prow 

Their  treasures  on  the  fated  sand  to  pour ; 

Afar  the  white-robed  sea  gull  loves  to  soar ; 
But,  pure  as  victim  for  a  nation's  vow 
A  lovely  maiden  strikes  the  shell,  and  now 

Its  music  charms,  and  sadness  reigns  no  more. 

Thus  Christian  poesy,  thus  on  pagan  coasts, 
For  ages  mute  had  lain  thy  sacred  lyre. 
Untouched  since  from  the  prophet's  hand  it  fell, 

Till  fair  Cecilia,  taught  by  angel  hosts. 
Attuned  its  music  to  the  heavenly  choir, 
And  gave  a  Christian  voice  to  Clio's  shell. 


I  I 


i  i 


:■   !     J 


i     ! 


A  M  I  N  T  A 


BOOK     I 


I. 

The  music  of  our  life  is  keyed 

To  moods  that  sweep  athwart  the  soul ; 

The  strain  will  oft  in  gladness  roll, 
Or  die  in  sobs  and  tears  at  need  ; 

But  sad  or  gay,  'tis  ever  true 

That,  e'en  as  flowers  from  light  take  hue, 
The  key  is  of  our  mood  the  deed. 


o:'»"*Ar!»SfSiM».'.' 


Ii    ! 


10 


A  MIXTA. 


II. 


Whence  come  our  mooas,  or  how  go  they  r 
Are  they  from  automatic  beats 
Of  brain-blood  in  its  cellule  seats, 

With  laws  that  fix  their  flight  or  stay? 
Or  do  they  form  and  substance  take, 
Like  ripples  on  sad  Nemi's  lake, 

Each  from  the  one  preceding's  play  ? 

ITI. 

'Twere  well,  I  ween,  could  man  but  solve 
The  complex  problem  of  his  life. 
To  see  what  share  of  joy  or  strife 

His  nature  or  his  acts  involve ; 
To  see  what  are  the  primal  facts 
That  ought  to  color  all  his  acts. 

And  make  his  heart  round  them  revolve. 


A  MINT  A. 


H 


IV. 

Apollo's  wing  risks  not  such  flight ; 
Apollo's  gifts  can  not  reveal 
The  secrets  hid  beneath  God's  seal, 

Or  by  the  pristine  fall  from  right; 

Bereft  of  guide,  who  these  would  teach, 
A  lampless  pilgrim  fain  would  reach 

A  shrine  unknown  on  starless  night. 


And  so  the  world  goes  on  in  sighs, 
Or  in  a  laugh  from  .lorrow  born, 
With  naught  of  mirth,  but  much  of  scorn  ; 

Or  giveth  forth  low,  wailing  cries 

From  weary  hearts  by  grief  oppressed, 
That  grasped  at  every  promised  rest, 

But  ever  found  each  promise — lies. 


12 


AM  INT  A. 


VI. 

Is  there  no  key  that  can  unlock 
The  inmost  door  of  life  and  death  ? 
Does  life  cease  with  the  ceasing  breath  ? 

And  do  our  hopes  and  fears  but  mock? 
Are  they  not  torments  of  the  heart, 
Engendered  by  vain  priestly  art, 

Unnatural  as  grass  to  rock  ? 


VII. 

This  simple  tale  will  answer  give 
To  questions  often  asked  with  pain 
By  those  who  seek  the  light  in  vain. 

Our  hero  cried  :    "  For  truth  I'll  live  ; 
Truth  and  myself  the  law  I  own  ; 
Stern  Science  sits  upon  her  throne 

And  sifts  all  creeds  in  her  cold  sieve." 


•a 


■Ik 


■A 


AMhVTA. 


13 


VIII. 

When  running  in  her  virgin  pride, 
Swift  Atalanta,  lured  by  sight 
Of  golden  fruit,  lost  her  prized  right 

To  be  of  none  the  wedded  bride ; 
And  so,  by  gaudy  shams  misled, 
His  morning  hopes  that  truth  ward  sped, 

Ere  eve,  turned  from  the  goal  aside. 


IX. 


Beneath  a  towering  cliff  he  stood; 

Beside  him  broke  the  wailing  sea, 

A  heavy  mist  hung  o'er  the  lea; 
The  rising  winds  moaned  in  the  wood 

That  girt,  but  not  in  full,  the  cape  ; 

And  racing  waves  took  on  the  shape 
Of  witches,  with  the  foam  for  hood. 


H 


AMINTA. 


X. 


A  light  of  haste  was  in  his  eye, 
A  watching  look  was  on  his  face, 
Like  sportsman  waiting  for  the  race; 

He  glanced  not  at  the  sea  nor  sky, 
But  only  where  a  soft  light  shone 
From  palace  perched  on  ridge  of  stone 

That  from  the  waves  rose  steep  and  high. 

XI. 

As  gauzy  cloud  that  floats  between 
The  sleeping  earth  and  rounded  moon 
No  shadow  casts  on  night  in  June, 

But  yet  a  change  is  felt  or  seen, 
So,  by  a  graceful  form  undimmed. 
Or  brighter,  as  a  lamp  fresh  trimmed, 

The  palace  light  changed  in  its  sheen. 


A  MINT  A. 


15 


XII. 

Our  hero  saw  the  lightsome  shade, 
And  leaped  into  a  birchen  skiff 
That  danced  beneath  the  towering  cliff. 

He  quickly  rowed  with  feathered  blade; 
Beside  the  ridge  of  stone  he  went, 
Long  hours  there  he  nightly  spent, 

As  if  his  love  were  some  fair  Naiad. 

XIII. 

But  no — she  was  of  mortal  form, 
With  eyes  that  spoke  the  soul's  intent; 
And  o'er  each  fair  lineament 

A  look,  not  cold,  nor  yet  too  warm — 
A  wistful  calm  it  was — and  yet 
There  flashed  a  shade  of  sad  regret. 

Wan  as  a  moonbeam  in  a  storm. 


ft  ,»*^f.  >',a*At-iUiW*£.(.^i>^^^*'«Jt*iU»l?_Kj.  ■ 


■^s*. 


•J:    ; 


H 


l 

; 
I 
r 


i6 


AMLYTA. 


XIV. 


Life's  short  aurora  left  her  proud ; 
Its  morn  had  taught  the  vanity 
Of  beauty,  wealth,  or  high  degree, 

To  save  her  from  an  early  shroud  ; 
And  so  her  pride  had  given  place 
To  sentiment  that  was  not  grace, 

But  still  though  passed,  it  left  a  cloud. 

XV. 

Hers  was  a  soul  that  sought  in  art 

An  antidote  to  human  ill ; 

Old  China,  bric-a-brac — the  skill 
-Esthetic  culture  would  impart 

The  beautiful  on  earth  to  find — 

These  were  the  objects  of  her  mind  ; 
With  these  she  strove  to  ease  her  heart. 


i 


M. 


A  MINT  A, 


17 


XVI. 

Vain  hope  I     As  well  with  lambent  air 
Seek  man's  keen  hunger  to  appease 
As  hearts  to  sate  with  such  as  these. 

Love,  yes,  the  beautiful  and  fair, 

Nor  cast  on  them  a  glance  of  scorn  ; 
But  yet,  take  heed,  thy  soul  was  born 

To  higher  things  the  child  and  heir. 


XVII. 

And  thus  Aminta  passed  her  years ; 

To  outward  seeming  bright  her  lot. 

But  exile  never  yet  forgot 
The  anguish  of  his  parting  tears  ; 

And  souls  when  turned  from  God  away. 

That  breathe  his  air  but  never  pray, 
Shall  knowledge  have  of  grief  and  fears. 


"'•* 


i8 


AMINTA. 


\\. 


I    I 


I 


I  . 


XVIII. 

Within  the  shadow  of  her  lamp 
The  nightly  signal  to  her  love — 
A  crystal  vase  in  form  of  dove, 

And  characters  of  mystic  stamp 

Cut  on  its  wings — she  eager  raised  ; 
Inside  the  dove  there  gentle  blazed 

A  light — safe  beacon  to  Love's  camp. 

XIX. 

In  skiff  beneath  young  Coroman, 
For  such  his  name,  impatient  stood  ; 
The  rock  is  high,  e'en  if  he  would 

To  climb  is  not  in  power  of  man. 
Aminta  threw  a  tiny  stone 
Firm  knit  to  tube  of  telephone, 

And  thus  did  art  the  distance  span. 


•% 


AMINTA. 


19 


XX. 

And  backward  thus  from  skiff  to  room 
The  olden  words  were  spoke  each  night ; 
In  truth  it  was  a  witching  sight 

And  worthy  of  a  brighter  doom. 

But  one  small  thread,  the  woof  of  strife, 
Too  often  mars  the  web  of  life 

The  Fates  weave  in  their  noiseless  loom. 


XXI. 

How  had  they  met  ?     How  sprung  the  tie 
That  like  the  goddess'  fabled  belt 
No  one  forgets  that  once  has  felt? 

Young  Coroman  beneath  that  sky 
Saw  not  the  light ;  a  friend  me  told 
The  story  of  his  life.     Behold, 

In  his  own  words  to  tell  I'll  try. 


■^ 


,. -y 


20 


A  MI  NT  A. 


■|  t( 


i 


!    I 


. 


Came  Coroman  to  this  fair  shore 

Where  soft  warm  breezes  mildly  play 
In  valleys  where  the  golden  ore 

In  rich  profusion  scattered  lay. 
No  hand  in  friendship  grasped  his  own  ; 

No  cheek  beamed  with  a  friendly  smile ; 
No  voice,  no  look  to  him  was  known  ; 

No  one  spoke  of  his  distant  isle. 
Alone,  deserted,  o'er  the  plain 

In  aimless  course  his  footsteps  tend; 
A  demon  passion  stirs  his  brain 

By  one  weak  act  his  life  to  end. 
At  twilight's  shadowy  hour  he  goes 

O'er  Metiz'  hills,  whose  deepening  gloom 
Offers  an  asylum  of  repose 

As  silent  as  the  clammy  tomb. 


1 


M 
■m 


A  MI  NT  A. 


21 


Beneath  a  mournful  holly  brake 

He     stretched      his      worn      and      wearied 
form, 
Lulled  by  the  murmurings  of  a  lake 

That  lay  secure  from  bi^eze  or  storm. 
An  awful  quiet  hung  in  the  air  ; 

The  gloom  was  solemn,  dark,  and  deep  ; 
A  prey  to  grief  and  wild  despair 

Sink  Coroman  in  troubled  sleep ; 
In  fitful  dreams  before  his  eyes 

Arose  dark  pictures  of  the  past  ; 
They  move  his  soul ;  he  vainly  strives 

To  break  the  bonds  around  him  cast. 
A  lovely  woman  first  he  sees, 

Proud,  hopeful,  modest,  fair,  and  mild, 
Toying  on  her  maternal  knees 

A  bright,  a  rosy  laughing  child. 


^ 


22 


AMINTA. 


i  !' 


'    i; 


The  vision  changed  ;  a  youth  appeared 

In  flowery  fields  to  gayly  rove  ; 
His  parents  watched  and  inly  feared 

Some  danger  to  their  fluttering  dove. 
A  murky  cloud  shuts  out  the  sight  ; 

A  horrid  gloom  is  round  him  thrown  ; 
Wild  terrors  fill  his  soul  with  fright, 

So  painful  has  the  darkness  grown. 
The  cloud  rolls  off ;  the  youth  appears ; 

But     ah  !     so     changed     the     once     bright 
look ; 
The  parents  gazed  with  bitter  tears 

As  if  all  hope  their  hearts  forsook. 
Dark  shadows  fill  the  path  he  treads ; 

No  star  affords  a  cheering  ray  ; 
Grim  monsters  raise  their  ghastly  heads, 

And  folly's  votaries  point  the  way. 


■■,v 


■  ..Vv 
4^ 


y>. 


AMINTA. 


23 


red 


►ve. 


wn  ; 


irs; 

e    bright 


But  now,  e'en  as  this  fades  away, 

New  objects  seem  to  slowly  rise 
In  forms  as  fair  as  comes  the  day 

To  greet  the  land  of  cloudless  skies. 
A  youthful  pair  with  joyous  song 

Tripped  lightly  o'er  the  waving  flowers 
Awaking  echoes  far  among 

T'  '    linden  trees  and  olive  bowers. 
Beneath  an  arbor  now  they  stayed 

Encircled  by  the  sweet  wild  brier  ; 
Close  by  a  rippling  fountain  played, 

Like  distant  sound  of  heavenly  choir. 
As  in  life's  joyful  hours  dark  woes 

Steal  o'er  the  sunshine  of  our  rest, 
E'en  so,  o'er  visions  fair  as  those 


Fell  shadows  of  a  love  unblest. 


■f. 


24 


■' 


Wliat  mournful  voice  of  wild  despair 

On  that  still  night  the  echoes  woke  ? 
It  was  the  hapless  Elonair 

Who  thus  in  bitter  accents  spoke : 
"  Despised,  abandoned,  cast  away 

Like  withered  flower  that  graced  a  bride, 
Culled  for  the  pleasure  of  a  day, 

Then  all  unheeded,  thrown  aside — " 

•  a  •  •  •  • 

Again  broke  forth  that  plaintive  tone. 

But  new  subdued    nnd  soft  and  low 
As  when  the  winds  with  saddest  moan 

O'er  lonely  graves  the  dead  leaves  throw. 
"  Here  our  vows  of  love  were  spoken 

As  night's  still  hours  went  gliding  by  ; 
Here  those  vows  of  love  were  broken, 

And  here  deserted,  I  will  die. 


1 

I 


1  i  ii 


AMIXTA. 


25 


r 

ke? 


a  bride, 


w 
in 
throw. 


by; 


Forgive  me,  Heaven,"  she  \vildly  said, 

Then,  kneeling  on  the  dewy  sod, 
A  moment  gleamed  the  dagger's  blade 

And  Elonair's  soul  met  her  God. 
Though  steeped  in  sleep,  the  awful  sight 

To  Coroman's  eyes  brought  the  tears, 
As  dreaming  fancy  shed  a  light 

On  far  off  scenes  of  former  years — 
The  infant  on  its  mother's  knee, 

The  man  who  broke  his  parents'  hearts. 
The  youth,  the  lover — all  were  he; 

"Oh!  God,"  he  cries  and  wildly  starts. 
As  frighted  deer  flies  from  the  hound 

When  resting  near  a  cooling  stream, 
So  Coroman  si)rings  from  the  ground, 

Then     shuddering     cries  ;    "  'Twas     u;.t 
dream. 


r  c 


iEij 


i; 


26 


AMINTA. 


Yet  if  a  dream  why  even  now 

This  unknown  terror  at  my  heart  ? 
Why  this  cold  dampness  on  my  brow  ? 

This  throbbing  as  if  life  would  part? 
O  Elonair,  the  awful  thought 

Of  thy  sad  fate  distracts  my  mind  : 
False  vows,  behold  the  crime  you  wrought ; 

Fierce  are  the  stings  you  leave  behind. 
And  thou  pale  star  that  saw  my  guilt, 

Be  witness  now  to  what  I  feel ; 
I\iy  teais  shall  drop,  like  her  blood  spilt, 

Seeking  pardon  as  here  I  kneel." 


Fair  is  the  scene  on  Metiz*  hills  ; 

The  bright  moon  shines  in  softness  there ; 
A  breezy  warmth  the  spirit  thrills 

As  kneels  young  Coroman  in  prayer — 


I 


AMINTA. 


27 


w  ? 
irt? 


O  Alercy,  lend  a  ready  ear, 
A  sinner  now  for  pardon  sues  ; 

Repentance  surely  is  sincere 

When  sorrow  cheeks  with  tears  bedews. 


rought ; 

hind. 

t, 

spilt, 


5  there ; 


r — 


He  rose  and  gazed  adown  the  vale, 

Whence,  soft  as  playing  zephyr's  sigh 
Came  to  his  ears,  borne  on  the  gale. 

Strange  blended  notes  of  harmony. 
He  lightly  goes,  led  by  the  sound, 

O'er  grassy  hills  and  flowery  glades; 
Where  every  object   strewn  around 

Danced  in  the  moonbeam's  checkered  shades. 
A  maid,  fair  as  the  summer's  dawn. 

And  soft  as  balmy  breath  of  spring, 
Reclining  on  a  heathered  lawn. 

Thus  to  herself  did  plaintive  sing : 


t 


\r 


r  n 


'1!    -i 


28 


AMINTA. 


**  Sweet  are  the  tears  of  a  new-born  love ; 

They  are  called  the  dew-drops  of  the  heart ; 
But  sweeter  still  are  the  joys  we  prove 

When  two  souls  are  linked  by  aesthetic  art. 
Love  nerves  the  warrior's  faltering  arm, 

Where  embittered  foes  meet  on  the  plain ; 
But  art  has  a  magic  power  to  charm, 

And  soothe  our  grief  for  the  hapless  slain. 
Asunder  hearts  may  be  rudely  torn 

By  a  cruel,  material  Fate  ; 
But  back  on  gossamer  wings  is  borne 

The  art-cultured  soul  to  greet  its  m.ate." 


AMINTA. 


29 


slain. 


XXII. 

Thus  sang  Aminta  while  she  played, 
And  o'er  her  fell  a  mist  of  light 
Showered  through  the  leaves  with  dew-drops 
dight, 

That  part  the  moon's  effulgence  stayed  : 
And  yet  these  drops — tears  spirits  shed 
When  nightly  mourning  hopes  long  dead, 

The  thoughtless  beams  prismatic  frayed. 

XXIII. 

Soul-filled,  the  youthful  Coroman, 
By  chains  of  music  sweetly  bound. 
Stands  rooted  to  the  herby  ground  : 

Her  form  of  face  he  fain  would  scan  ; 
But  as  she  weaves  her  fetters  strong, 
A  link  in  each  note  of  the  song, 

How  best  to  act  he  forms  no  plan. 


' }  if 


Hi 


30 


A  MI  NT  A. 


% 


XXIV. 

Another  watched  Aminta  then  : 
A  swarthy  face,  with  fell  intent, 
Hid  by  the  copse  in  silence  bent. 

False  to  their  trust,   the  well-paid  men 
Had  left  their  mistress  all  alone ; 
For  traitor  gold,  a  way  was  shown 

To  bear  her  to  the  outlaw's  den  ! 

XXV. 

Gonzalez,  once  an  honored  name 

Had  proudly  borne  on  Metiz'  streets ; 
Now  in  his  soul  each  passion  meets 

A  struggling  sense  against  his  shame ; 
But  canker  vice,  unchecked  in  youth, 
Unmans  his  will,  destroys  his  truth ; 

He  hugs  the  sin,  yet  fain  would  blame. 


AMINTA. 


J 


XXVI. 

In  happier  days  he  sought  the  hand 
Of  fair  Aminta,  glad  to  feel 
Her  father  wished  to  see  him  kneel 

The  favored  suitor  in  the  land. 
She  little  loved  his  fickle  ways, 
His  moods  of  wrath,  his  moods  of  praise. 

So  Hymen  kindled  not  his  brand. 

xxvii. 
An  outlaw  for  a  reckless  deed, 

One  wild  regret  his  spirit  gnaws ; 

Like  Satan  in  hell's  gaping  jaws. 
He  sees  what  might  have  been  his  meed  ; 

But  lost  forever — ever  lost! 

To  gain  how  slight  had  been  the  cost ! 
Vet  his  own  act  the  loss  decreed. 


i 


(^ 


i! 
) 


I 


111 


U  t 


km 


ni  i; 


32 


A  MIXTA. 


II 


XXVIII. 

Gonzalez  !  weep  we  at  thy  lot — 

Thy  hopeless  anguish  knows  no  balm  ; 
Fur  thee  no  more  that  blessed  calm 

That  joys  the  soul  where  sin  is  not. 
And  yet  the  grace-fraught  sacrament 
That  binds,  or  frees,  by  Christ's  intent, 

The  rust  of  sin  from  souls  can  blot, 

XXIX. 

Gonzalez  !  in  our  daily  walk 

How  oft  we  meet  thy  fretted  face  ! 
It  hides  not  in  its  damned  disgrace, 

But  through  the  crowd  doth  haughty  stalk. 
Fair  ladies  smile,  nor  turn  the  head, 
For  o'er  it  hath  not  Science  shed 

A  halo  by  its  godless  talk  ? 


t 


AMINTA, 


XXX. 


Meanwhile,  unknown  to  each,  they  gaze 
Upon  the  all-unconscious  maid. 
She  ceases  now  ;  the  music  played 

Goes  sounding  on  in  endless  maze; 
For  wave-sounds  started  into  life, 
Like  good  or  ill,  like  joy  or  strife, 

Will  echo  through  eternal  days. 

XXXI. 

With  timid  step  Gonzalez  neared 
The  fair  esthete,  who  now  arose 
And  o'er  her  head  a  mantle  throws  ; 

Nor  man  nor  demon  he  had  feared  ; 
But  love  can  make  the  strongest  weak. 
As  love  can  nerve  the  frail  and  meek 

To  dare  and  die  for  one  endeared. 


33 


1: 


:      ;t 
1 


\ ) 


i 


1 


:;-'^ 


•  i 


34 


AM  I  NT  A. 


'^'\ 


\\\ 


XXXII. 

Aminta  heard  the  foot-falls  press 
The  dewy  grass  with  muffled  sound  ; 
She  deemed  it  was  her  faithful  hound, 

Who  well  her  homeward  hour  could  guess. 
"Come,  Oscar,  come;  where  are  the  men?' 
She  turned,  and  saw  Gonzalez  then  ; 

And  wonder  left  her  colorless. 

XXXIII. 

One  shrinking  glance,  unborn  of  feai, 
One  hasty  movement  of  her  hand, 
And  then  she  called  in  accents  bland — 

"  Come,  Oscar,  come  " — but  with  a  sneer 
Gonzalez  spoke  :  "  He  sleeps  to-night  ; 
The  men,  fast  bound,  bewail  their  plight; 

No  one,  my  lady-love,  is  near." 


A  MIXTA. 


35 


XXXIV. 

"  Base  wretch  !     And  thus  you  hopo  to  bend 
A  soul  that  loathes  thy  outcast  name; 
And  thus  you  glory  in  the  shame 

That  none  are  nigh  who  help  can  lend  ! 
This  hand,  though  frail,  can  wield  a  dart 
To  find  at  least  a  maiden's  heart, 

If  baser  ones  it  may  not  rend." 

XXXV. 

"Aminta!  hold!"  he  wildly  spoke; 

"  Dark  passions  cleave  my  soul  in  twain ; 

Forbear  to  add  the  greatest  pain, 
The  words  of  scorn  from  one  who  broke 

The  check-string  of  my  youthful  life  ; 

For,  hadst  thou  been  my  wedded  wife, 
My  sins  to  life  had  never  woke. 


t 


<  I 


I 


rni, 


\\ 


1 

I' 


ill 


36 


A  MIXTA. 


XXXVI. 


m 


►fpili 


(t   T' 


There  is  a  hell,  good  Christians  say, 
Where  demons  goad  the  dupes  they  made, 
And  dupes  their  tyrants  fierce  upbraid  : 

That  hell  is  mine  by  night  and  day ; 
The  love  that  lured  me  to  my  crime 
l^Iocks  at  my  grief;  no  cure  has  time, 

In  my  abyss  there  is  no  ray. 

XXXVII. 

*'  And  I,  mad  fool— I  love  thee  still ; 

In  my  dark  hell  thou  art  the  joy 

Once  seen,  then  lost,  but  ever  nigh, 
Whose  thought  my  hell  with  torments  fill. 

In  vain  I  curse  toy  countless  charms  ; 

For  memory  my  wrath  disarms. 
And,  while  I  curse,  it  draws  my  will. 


m 


A  MINT  A. 
XXXVIII. 

"  But  come,  A  minta,  smile  en  me  ; 

Forget  my  past,  be  my  own  bride — 

Let  love  the  victor  be,  not  pride ; 
My  deeds  of  wrong  can  soil  not  thee. 

Nay,  strive  not  now  thy  heart  to  steel ; 

In  frenzied  love  to  thee  I  kneel — 
Aminta,  O  Aminta !  see." 

XXXIX. 

Just  God  !  it  is  a  painful  sight, 
A  writhing  soul  in  guilt-born  toils, 
A  fettered  slave  whom  sin  despoils 

Of  all  that  makes  existence  bright  : 

And  yet  less  painful  than  a  soul 

Proud,  passionless,  with  self-control, 

But  cankered  by  Agnostic  blight. 
4 


37 


Mil! 


'-  i 


•1; 


38 


AMINTA. 


XL. 


There  stood  the  fair  Agnostic  ;  cold 
As  moonbeams  on  an  iceberg's  crest, 
An  outcome  of  a  creed  unblest — 

Life  is  to  her  a  trackless  wold. 
Sin-seared,  Gonzalez  in  his  grief 
Made  Christian,  fcr  an  instant  brief, 

Does  not  from  hope  his  thoughts  withhold. 


•  I 


XLI. 

Aminta  smiled  with  flashing  scorn 
To  hear  Gonzalez  pray  to  God  ; 
Man  was  to  her  an  earthen  clod, 

And  sin  a  name  from  custom  born  : 

Foul  deeds  she  shunned  as  outward  stains, 
But  thoughts  she  never  once  restrains  ; 

So  sin  was  of  the  act  but  shorn. 


Ill 


A  MINT  A, 


XLII. 


She  haughty  turned  ond  moved  away, 
These  mocking  words  she  only  said  : 
"  Gonzalez,  when  I  choose  to  wed, 

To  me,  not  God,  my  spouse  must  pray." 
The  spell  is  broke;  Gonzalez  rose; 
He  fronts  her  as  she  lightly  goes, 

And  hoarsely  gasps,  "  Aminta,  stay  !  " 

XLIII. 

He  grasped  her  with  a  powerful  arm, 
A  reckless  light  gleamed  in   his  eye. 
"I  know  with  death  I  will  not  die, 

And  yet  I  dare — O  cursed  charm 

That  weans  me  from  my  better  mood, 
And  makes  my  very  mildness  rude  ; 

I  dare  the  ill,  but  weigh  the  harm! 


39 


n 

II 

i  t 

f  i 

-,  i 

; 

1 

'• 

. 

■  i 


I 


t        t; 


i  I 


I . 


II 


w 


ill 


I'.j 


40 


AMINTA, 


XLIV. 

"  My  life  is  now  a  moral  wreck  ; 

Its  shattered  planks  your  love  can  bind 
And  gild  the  seams  where  they  are  joined; 

Can  man  anew  with  hope  the  deck 
And  guide  to  safe  and  honored  port 
What  now  of  waves  is  but  the  sport, 

Or  drifting  at  each  passion's  beck." 

XLV. 

Unconscious,  in  his  frenzied  state 
Her  fragile  arm  he  cruelly  pressed  ; 
The  pain  she  felt  no  words  expressed, 

But  bowing  to  her  fancied  fate, 

''Strike,  monster,  strike!  my  dying  groan 
Shall  breathe  in  every  failing  tone 

The  accents  of  undying  hate !  " 


in 


AMINTA, 


41 


XLVI. 

Young  Coroman  had  silent  stood  ; 

The  muttered  words  reached  not  his  ear ; 

He  deemed  the  man  a  lover  dear 
Unworthy  of  a  girl  so  good. 

But  now  these  words  of  bitterness 

Showed  him  the  maiden  in  distress, 
And  with  a  bound  he  cleared  the  wood. 


■I  *i 


.ii 


XLVII. 

• 

He  drew  a  poniard  from  his  breast : 
"  Hands  off  !     Thy  coward  life  defend ! 
'Twere  better  now  to  make  an  end, 

And  give  thee  to  thy  final  rest !  " 
Thus  Coroman.     Gonzalez  freed 
A  dagger  from  his  belt  with  speed. 

And  now  'tis  who  can  thrust  the  best. 


i 


42 


AMINTA. 


XLVIII. 
Now  foot  to  foot  they  press  the  earth  ; 

The  clashing  steel  its  story  tells  ; 

Like  jingling  of  a  carter's  bells, 
It  hath  a  jocund  sound  of  mirth ; 

But  fiercer  than  the  prowling  ghouls 

That  haunt  the  simple  carters'  souls 
Are  now  the  hates  that  give  it  birth. 


XLIX. 

As  when  beneath  proud  Ilium's  wall 
Achilles  met  the  Trojan  chief, 
And  sought  revenge  for  private  grief, 

And  Troy,  not  Hector,  seemed  to  fall — 
Such  to  Aminta  was  the  fight, 
Who,  powerless,  shuddered  at  the  sight, 

But  no  Minerva  can  she  call. 


■l^ 


AM  INT  A, 


43 


■:l 


L. 

Ill  had  it  fared  with  Coroman, 

For  dark  Gonzalez'  strokes  were  true- 
Swift  to  decline,  quick  to  pursue  ; 

But,  as  they  round  a  circle  ran, 
Gonzalez  broke  his  trusty  blade  ; 
Its  point  lies  glinting  on  the  glade, 

Its  golden  hilt  but  little  can. 


ill 


LI. 

They  heard  the  tramp  of  armored  men 
Gonzalez  saw  their  waving  plumes  ; 
Before  his  mind  there  darkly  looms 

A  hated  picture. — They  are  ten 
Avengers  on  his  track.     To  wait. 
Is  but  to  court  an  outlaw's  fate — 

To  fly — he  leaves  Aminta  then ! 


1^ 


j   I 


i, 


44 


AMINTA. 


LII. 


Ye.s!    he  had  ctood  and  dared  them  all 
To  gaze  on  her,  e'en  as  he  fought; 
This  taste  of  love  he  would  have  bought 

With  blood  and  life,  and  deemed  them  small 
As  price  for  one  short  hour  of  bliss  : 
Bas    ohe  for  whom  he'd  dare  all  this 

Hio  '^igh  -^-olve  turned  soon  to  gall. 


i  I  F  if    ■  ■ 


LIII. 

"Gonzalez,  see,"  she  coldly  spoke, 

"  The  law  hath  arms  to  reach  thee  yet ; 
0  would  we'd  never,  never  met ! 

For,  as  around  the  healthy  oak 
Uncourted  ivy  leaves  a  stain, 
So  thy  mad  love,  though  all  in  vain, 

Will  shame  a  love  it  never  woke." 


(I 


HI 


A  MINT  A. 


LIV. 


45 


He  heard.     As  one  asleep  he  stood  ; 

An  awful  wave  surged  o'er  his  soul  ; 

His  cheek  grew  black,  but  like  a  coal 
His  eye  shone  'nea^h  its  lowering  hood. 

Placed  in  the  crucible  by  Fate, 

Love,  hope,  and  pride,  distilled  in  hate; 
With  one  wild  cry  he  sought  the  wood. 


[I   ^ 

\ 
\  ■ 

\  • 


ii 


m 


LV. 

Young  Coroman  with  gentle  ways 
Aminta  soothes,  and  as  they  walk 
Of  the  past  scene  they  scarce  wall  talk. 

To  him  'twould  seem  he  craved  her  praise  ; 
To  her  a  dread,  an  unknown  fear 
Lest  he  should  deem  Gonzalez  dear, 

A  lover  of  her  youthful  days. 


i 

1  A  iim 


h 


46 


AMINTA, 


LVI. 
Thus  had  they  met.     Emotions  spring 
Full  swift  from  Nature-planted  seed; 
Youth  is  a  miser  in  its  greed 
To  garner  love  ;    the  subtle  sting 
Close  follows  on  the  heels  of  joy; 
In  mood  'tis  like  a  maiden  coy, 
And  ever  lurks  'neath  Cupid's  wing. 


Mt'! 


Hi 


LVII. 

O  gentle  muse  !  deign  thou  to  weave 

Genetic  story  of  true  love. 

Is  it  an  ark-emitted  dove 
That  o'er  a  wasteful  world  must  grieve? 

Is  there  no  spot  where  it  may  rest  ? 

Bears  it  no  branch  of  olive  blest 
To  joy  the  soul  at  life's  quick  eve? 


mm 


wm 


AA//XTA. 


47 


LVIII. 

Or  if  it  be  of  mortal  mold 

How  is  it  born?     Whence  its  king  power 
Transforming  hearts  within  an  hour  ? 

Can  it  be  bought,  like  gems,  for  gold  ? 
And  why  the  thorns  that  hedge  it  round 
That  most  the  truest  hearts  will  wound, 

Whose  love  is  oft  a  poem  untold  ? 

LIX. 

Thus  soft  I  asked  my  well  loved  muse, 
Reclining  'neath  the  dark-green  pines 
Through  which  the  failing  sunlight  shines, 

Sweet  spot  to  me,  a  glad  recluse. 

A  zephyr  stirred  the  cone-ribbed  boughs, 
They  murmured  low  as  half-spoke  vows. 

Then  wailed  as  one  who  hopeless  wooes. 


IIP 


r« 


,|--'. 


!  I; 

-;    I 

■.    I' 


(    ■ 


■ 


■J 


li 


1' 


I  i 


it 


48 


AMINTA. 


LX. 


Was  this  the  answer  to  my  cry  ? 
I  heard  it  in  the  fitful  breeze 
When  cellule  cones  drop  from  the  trees, 

And  dying  summer  seems  to  sigh  : 
Love  is  a  breath  from  paradise, 
Free  at  its  birth  from  pain  or  vice, 

Earth-touched  'twill  soon  in  sadness  die. 

LXI. 

Eternal  cycles  measure  not 
Love's  awful  span  of  living  years. 
While  stars  shall  circle  in  tlieir  spheres. 

Its  youthful  face  shall  know  no  blot ; 
E'en  should  the  stars  by  stronger  will, 
Clash  in  their  orbits,  even  still 

Unaged,  Love  will  guard  our  lot. 


A  MIXTA. 


49 


LXII. 

Life  comes  from  love  and  love  from  life, 
A  seeming  paradox  tins  law  ; 
Its  chain  of  reason  shows  no  flaw, 

The  Gordian  knot  requires  no  knife, 
For  God  is  love  and  life,  or  each, 
Unbounded  essence,  as  they  teach, 

A  simple  act  with  causes  rife. 

LXIII. 

Walk  back  the  years — He  ever  is  ; 
Unfold  the  laws  of  cosmic  kind, 
In  vain  in  them  you  seek  to  find 

A  power  or  plan  that  is  not  his. 

The  firmest  fixed  of  Nature's  laws — 

That  all  effects  must  have  a  cause — 

Proclaims  aloud — He  ever  is. 
5 


! 

\  if 


»;  1 


ir 


joy 
FT 


;ij  ^ 


:ii. 


^1 


If 

( 
}   : 


50 


AMINTA. 


LXIV. 

God-born,  Love  fell  upon  the  earth, 
Faint  image  of  a  brighter  ray, 
But  in  our  gross  and  mortal  clay 

It  savors  of  our  carnal  birth  : 
'Tis  oft  refined  concupiscence. 
The  sport  of  passion  and  the  sense, 

And  so  of  thorns  it  has  no  dearth. 


LXV. 

They  truly  love  who  love  in  God 
A  fitting  soul  to  be  their  mate, 
Nor  blindly  think  a  myth-born  fate 

Can  shape  their  future  by  a  nod ; 
Nor  for  a  throb  of  love  sublime 
Mistake  the  frenzies  of  a  crime  ; 

Nor  think  that  all  must  own  Love's  rod. 


m,,ii&. 


A  MIXTA. 


51 


LXVI. 

No  fetters  bind  the  human  will ; 

'Tis  Folly's  voice  and  Passion's  plea 
To  say  in  love  we  are  not  free  : 

A  coward  age  that  fain  would  still 

Some  outward  shame-sense  seem  to  own 
Hath  feigned  this  tyrant  ;   by  his  throne 

They  purity  and  freedom  kill. 


■  I 


t  ,i 


LXVII. 

Ah,  Poesy  !  oft  a  traitor  made 

To  thy  sublimely  noble  task, 

Tear  now  aside  the  cursed  mask 
'Neath  which  false  love  too  long  hath  played ; 

For  souls  will  mourn  and  hearts  will  break 

Oft  for  a  clayey  idol's  sake 
That  never  worthy  act  essayed. 


!(  \a 


52 


AMINTA. 


:      f 

1         i 

1         ^ 

* 

\ 

1 

■ 

) 

' 

i 

i 

LXVIII. 

Self  is  the  measure  of  our  age  ; 

Its  science  starts  and  ends  with  self ; 

Art  reckons  triumph  by  its  pelf, 
Nor  seeks  to  live  on  glory's  page  ; 

Philosophy,  are  termed  the  views 

That  most  unbridled  lust  diffuse 
Or  'gainst  the  Godhead  loudest  rage. 

LXIX. 

As  lightest  dew  on  fungus  seared 
The  culture  of  our  age  is  spread 
O'er  souls  to  high  emotions  dead, 

Who  scout  the  God  their  sires  revered ; 
The  risen  sun  the  fungus  bares. 
We  see  how  changed  the  look  it  wears, 

How  foul  A     jn  dews  have  disappeared. 


■MAutMHAr-rvM 


AMINTA. 


53 


LXX. 

Nor  wonder  then  that  lives  are  sad, 
That  blossoms  wither  ere  their  eve, 
That  passions  round  us  cobwebs  weave, 

And  pleasures  cloy  once  they  are  had  ; 
Eternal  love  produced  the  soul 
And  gave  itself  for  final  goal ; 

Walk  in  its  light  and  life  is  glad. 

LXXI. 

What  thought  Aminta  as  they  strayed 
With  ill-feigned  haste  to  reach  her  home 
But  ever  found  new  cause  to  roam 

Or  linger  where  the  moonbeams  played  ? 
In  woman's  soul  is  born  the  thrill 
Of  Love,  the  seed-bud  and  the  will, 

In  man's  'tis  but  of  this  the  shade. 


:        I 


\     I 


f ;  ■ 


I     , 


y.i        I 


li 


54 


AMINTA, 


LXXII. 

There  is  a  law  no  sage  may  speak, 
A  subtle  law — soul  acts  on  soul, 
Magnetic  waves  alternate  roll 

And  tell  the  tale  from  eye  and  cheek  t, 
Philosophers  who  vaunt  that  dust 
Is  source  and  cause  of  life  and  trust 

Read  by  this  law  are  sucklings  weak. 

Lxxni. 

When  eye  meets  eye  in  speaking  glance 
The  clayey  orb  is  to  the  thought 
That  flits  between  with  love  waves  fraught 

Like  air  to  beams  that  o'er  it  dance. 
The  vehicle,  but  not  the  cause, 
The  book,  but  not  the  deathless  laws 

That  claim  a  higher  birth  than  chance. 


•-r*«kaiit-  «>««>•« 


AMINTA. 


55 


LXXIV. 

The  world  moves  in  its  God's  embrace. 

Its  smallest  atom  knows  his  care  ; 

The  varied  beings  of  earth  and  air 
To  souls  must  yield  the  highest  place ; 

For  soul  to  soul,  though  sundered  wide, 

A  thought  can  wing — let  those  deride 
Who  from  the  ape  man's  dawn  would  trace. 

LXXV. 

Two  perfect  looms  work  in  a  mill, 

The  warp  and  weft  in  each  the  same  ; 
Unmoved  alike  by  praise  or  blame 

They  weave  with  strange  mechanic  skill  ; 
Though  side  by  side  the  threads  touch  not, 
Unknown  to  each  the  other's  lot ; 

For  them  there  is  nor  good  nor  ill. 


i,          B 

M  ■  J 

<   ''      '  mL 

■    ^ 

] 

n\ 

%  ' ' 

:  j  :(: 

I'i  i  \ 

1  ■ ' 

\m" ' 

f'™'   J    \ 

- '  ■     -> 

'    '  ' 

;  1 

\ ,    --1  y\ 

•     [  \, 

.    ;     (     , 

1  li   • 

(■ 


•I 


ill 


If 


56 


AMINTA. 


LXXVI. 

Thus  would  our  souls  unloving  weave 

A  tangled  web  of  joyless  life 

Were  creeds  that  now  in  books  are  rife 
Aught  but  sand  ropes  the  silly  reeve ; 

Devoid  of  soul,  lives'  viewless  threads 

Could  mingle  not,  for  knowledge  spreads 
But  from  our  souls  that  joy  and  grieve. 


ii 


LXXVII. 

The  fear  that  daunts  a  timid  mind, 
The  hate  that  sears  a  bitter  heart, 
The  sorrow  when  from  friends  we  part, 

The  love  that  dwells  in  bosoms  kind, 
The  hope  that  gilds  days  yet  unborn, 
Emotions  deep  of  mocking  scorn, 

Proclaim  a  soul  no  brain  cells  bind. 


-  \j 


AMINTA. 


57 


1 1 


i     i   I 


LXXVIII. 

Aminta  feels  her  bosom  swell 

With  throbs  that  mock  her  baseless  creed  ; 

E'en  as  they  rove,  a  yearning  need 
Threw  round  her  heart  a  sadlike  spell ; 

She  felt  the  soul  she  oft  denied 

Alternate  thrill  to  his  beside, 
And  knew  the  tale  they  mutual  tell. 


1,  ( 


if. 


i  S: 


LXXIX. 

She  knew  the  tale,  and  yet  a  fear 
Half  born  of  hope  a  shadow  throws, 
For  not  from  grief  come  all  our  woes, 

And  in  her  eye  there  formed  a  tear. 
Young  Coroman  its  welling  saw, 
For  him  tears  had  a  meaning  awe 

As  when  one  comes  a  graveyard  near. 


if 


i  ii 


!|ir| 


1:; 


(1 


h 


i 


v. 


If : ;:  ■ 

r 


58  AMINTA. 

LXXX. 

For  e'en  as  from  each  sodded  grave 
A  wordless  voice  in  monotone 
Proclaims  in  death  the  seed  is  sown 

Of  life  to  come;  so  tears  that  lave 
The  eyelids  of  a  foe  or  friend 
Wet  furrows  where  emotions  blend, 

But  only  blend  new  born  to  wave. 

LXXXI. 

Aminta  in  the  coils  of  fate — 

For  thus  agnostics  term  the  course 
A  soul  free  from  resistless  force 

Walks  in  its  willing  love  or  hate — 
Before  her  saw  a  dark  abyss 
Flanked  by  a  grove  of  perfect  bliss, 

And  Coroman  sat  by  each  gate. 


?^ 


AM  IN  r A. 


59 


<  I 


i  I 


LXXXII. 

'Tis  ever  thus ;    life's  sweetest  hour 
Is  like  a  broken  sunset  ray 
Athwart  the  restless  wavelets'  play 

Where  light  is  flecked  with  shade's  dark  lower  ; 
Thus  is  it  well ;   else  noble  aims, 
Seduced  by  life's  alluring  claims, 

Had  never  woke  to  lofty  power. 

LXXXIII. 

Thus  mercy  mingles  in  our  cup 
The  aloe  with  the  luscious  grape  ; 
The  orange  blossom  and  the  crape 

The  sum  of  countless  lives  make  up  ; 

With  lightsome  shade  and  shadowed  light 
Our  passing  years  wing  on  their  flight. 

We  drink  our  chalice,  sup  by  sup. 


!| 


■1!^ 


1 . '  < 


I 


I. 

4*1 


iM 


Co 


A  MINT  A. 


LXXXIV. 

Say,  can  Aminta  'neath  her  heel 

Love's  glamoured  idol  sternly  crush  ? 
Can  she  exchange  the  conscious  blush 

And  'gainst  soft  thoughts  her  bosom  steel  ? 
'Twere  vain  to  ask.     Has  free  will  then 
No  resting  place  in  souls  of  men 

That  she  must  to  this  passion  kneel  ? 


\\' 


LXXXV. 

Foul  vice,  in  cultured  masquerade, 
To  brutish  level  with  fine  phrase 
And  prattle  of  great  Nature's  ways 

Would  all  that's  human  fain  degrade  ; 
Free  will,  the  soul's  undying  years, 
And  God,  it  terms  exploded  fears. 

And  swinelike  makes  in  love  the  maid. 


Mh 


A  MINT  A. 


6l 


'f 


LXXXVI. 

For  tune  the  harp  to  any  key 

'Tis  still  the  harp  the  music  makes, 
And  cold  are  still  the  white  snowflakes 

On  sleeping  land  or  tossing  sea ; 
So  cloak  the  pleading  as  you  may, 
In  garb  of  science,  love,  or  lay 

We're  naught  but  beasts  unless  we're  free. 

LXXXVII. 

Frail  human  heart,  so  much  of  good, 
So  much  of  guilt  within  thy  folds 
That  pity  oft  the  balance  holds, 

Nor  strikes  where  justice  sternly  would; 

A  noble  sense,  e'en  in  thy  sin, 

Its  grossness  loathes,  and  strives  to  win 

Excuse  from  truths  not  understood. 
6 


J     \ 


if 


t 

'U 
1  <  1 

III 

'I  ! 

f  : 
'      { 


1 1^ 


i 


:•  h 


iA 


ri 


I 


\i 


w 


62 


AMINTA. 


LXXXVIII. 

And  hence  the  God-born  marriage  tie, 
That  loosens  but  by  death  its  force, 
It  fain  would  cut  by  foul  divorce 

Its  newest  lust  to  sanctify  ! 

And  so,  as  onward  we  advance, 
To  wanton  in  the  ball-room  dance 

Is  sinless  whims  to  gratify ! 


1 1 


LXXXIX. 

The  maiden's  cheek  is  trained  to  blush 
But  at  an  overt  deed  of  shame  ; 
What  Christian  lips  should  never  name 

She  now  may  read,  nor  hotly  flush  : 
Thus  runs  the  code  agnostics  own, 
Thus  science  speaks  from  mud-built  throne. 

And  thus  to  hell  they  headlong  rush. 


A  MIXTA. 

XC. 

But  now  the  castellated  hall 

Where  dwelt  her  father  stern  and  cold 
Aminta  neared  ;   the  wasteful  wold 

Cast  round  three  sides  a  dreary  wall ; 
A  rock,  deep  set  in  ocean's  breast, 
Was  fitting  circuit  to  the  rest 

Where  waves  to  wood  unceasing  call. 


63 


i  \ 


\.' 


!f 


i'  », 


P.  m 


XCI. 

A  mother's  love  Aminta  lost 

Long  years  agone  ;  the  godless  school 
Had  been  her  nurse,  her  guide,  her  rule, 

What  flowers  could  live  beneath  its  frost  ? 
Her  father,  by  the  catch-cry  led, 
Like  better  dupes,  high  hopes  had  fed, 

But  now  he  sadly  counts  the  cost. 


i  ■  k. 


f 


7 


^jpm 


If  I 


E  t 


iif 


if 


lii 


64 


AMIXTA. 


XCII. 
Yet  was  she  quite  correct  in  deed, 

And,  as  the  world  goes,  passing  pure  ; 

Vice  learned  from  books  she  could  endure, 
For  that  was  sanctioned  by  her  creed ; 

But  cold,  unloving  as  she  grew 

Her  father  mourned,  for  well  he  knew 
That  'mongst  the  grain  there  was  a  weed. 

XCIII. 

Aminta  faltered  sad  "  Good-by  " 

As  Coroman  stood  by  the  door; 

The  moonbeams  made  each  object  hoar, 
But  on  her  cheek  they  told  no  lie. 

"  We'll  meet  again  ?  "  he  asking  said ; 

A  faint  *'  Oh,  yes,"  came  from  the  maid, 
*Twas  like  the  echo  of  a  sigh. 


h 


AMIXTA. 


65 


e, 


xciv. 

They  met  again,  and  oft  tlicy  met, 
And  soon  the  t-ilc  was  told  in  words 
Too  soft  to  wake  the  dreaming  birds 

Or  stir  the  dew   on  leaflets  wet ; 

And  bright  the  summer  ebbed  away, 
And  nightly  now  ii[)on  the  bay 

They  meshes  weave  in  love's  silk  net. 

xcv. 
Bright  summer    days,  how  swift  ye  glide 

To  join  the  years  that  Eden  knew  ! 

Is  it  because  they  were  so  few 
Ye  fain  would  hasten  to  their  side  ? 

Or  are  your  rays  a  borrowed  beam 

From  theirs  shot  down  time's  fateful  stream 
To  nourish  hope,  to  humble  pride  ? 


» 


m 


!':i 
\:''  * 


66 


AMINTA. 


>i 


XCVI. 

Why  plume  your  wings  for  rapid  flight 
When  lonely  chambers  of  the  heart. 
That  open  but  by  potent  art, 

Are  filled  with  sweet  delusive  light  ? 
Does  envy  prompt  the  spiteful  deed, 
Or  rather  say,  docs  mercy  plead 

To  haste,  because  you  are  too  bright  ? 

XCVII. 

Yet  there  was  one — Aminta's  sire — 
Who  cursed  the  tardy  summer  days  ; 
He  cared  not  for  our  hero's  ways, 

And  bade  him  quench  the  new  lit  fire. 
And  so  each  night,  beneath  the  cliff 
Young  Coroman  came  in  his  skiff, 

And  saw  afar  his  heart's  desire. 


1 


a  liiiiti. 


AMIXTA. 

XCVIII. 

But  swift  or  slow,  the  days  will  pass, 
The  longest  night  will  have  a  morn. 
And  to  each  day  is  duly  born 

A  night  from  Time's  inverted  glass. 
And  so  that  summer  erewhile  fled, 
The  fairest  flowers  were  soonest  dead, 

Then  slowly  withered  up  the  grass. 

xcix. 

Sweet  autumn  came — Sun's  youngest  child, 
So  bright,  so  changeful  in  its  mood, 
The  zephyr  and  the  storm  wind  rude 

Find  welcome  in  its  bosom  mild. 
Like  smiles  of  those  who  early  die, 
It  brightens  as  the  end  draws  nigh. 

Nor  dreads  a  grave  with  snow  deep  piled. 


67 


if 


i 


I 


!     t 


.1 .  .  I 


n 

A 
tl 

I 
fj 

it 


I 


68 


AMINTA. 


C. 

Year's  almoner !  the  thoughtless  crowd 
Proclaims  thee  cheerless,  dark,  and  sad 
True  poets  hail  thy  footsteps  glad 

And  love  thee  when  at  rest  or  loud. 
To  garner — mission  of  the  good  — 
Asks  means  not  always  understood, 

And  hence  thy  mingled  sun  and  cloud. 


CI. 

Great  Nature  dies,  but  not  in  grief; 

A  matchless  robe  her  coffin's  pall ; 

Around  bright  leaves  in  silence  fall, 
And  for  a  tombstone  stands  a  sheaf ; 

Fit  emblems  these  for  skeptic  eyes, 

They  tell  the  dead  again  will  rise  ; 
Thus  Nature  tributes  to  belief. 


'km. 


li 


AMINTA. 


CII. 


One  autumn  eve,  when  mid  the  trees 
The  wind  was  heard  with  fitful  moan, 
Like  him  who  sobs  when  all  alone, 

But  hushes  when  a  face  he  sees, 
Her  nightly  watch  Aminta  kept ; 
'Twould  seem  as  if  her  lover  slept, 

Or  did  he  fear  the  rising  breeze  ? 

cm. 

A  sadness  seemed  the  night  to  fill ; 
It  lurked  beside  the  cushioned  chair, 
It  peopled  every  foot  of  air 

With  phantorrib  dread,  because  so  still ; 
On  such  a  night  the  sensless  herd. 
All  insect  life,  the  feathered  bird, 

Prescient  seem  of  coming  ill. 


69 


,. .  \ 


•: 


i\X 


\  ' 


i    I 


i'li 


I; 


i 


;fl 


;o 


AMINTA, 


CIV. 

E'en  now  Aminta  hears  afar 

The  plashing  of  his  well-known  oar ; 

It  sounds  not  as  the  night  before, 
But  can  such  thoughts  her  pleasure  mar? 

Strange  truth,  but  yet  she  inly  fears; 

Grief  reigns,  not  joy,  as  quick  he  nears, 
And  sad,  she  notes  a  falling  star. 


II 

HI 

1!  '^i 

ii 

1 

in 

1 

i 


1h 


cv. 

Such  as  when  first  Eve's  virgin  eyes 

Were  opened  by  the  shame  of  sin 

The  all  consuming  grief  within 
Shut  out  the  charms  of  paradise  ; 

Such  felt  Aminta  as  she  learns 

That  Fate's  rough  wheel,  as  round  it  turns, 
Must  bear  her  love  'neath  other  skies. 


ui. 


l^ 


A  MIXTA. 


71 


•  f^ 


CVI. 

*'  My  dearer  self,  Aminta  fair, 
Remorseless  laws  no  pity  feel, 
Else  would  I  now  a  suppliant  kneel 

That  they  might  this  sad  sundering  spare  ; 
But  no;   there  is  no  ray  of  hope — 
'Gainst  destiny  'tis  vain  to  cope, 

Entombed  is  joy  in  black  despair." 

CVII. 

Thus  Coroman,  who  all  too  soon 

Cant  phrase  of  bastard  science  spoke  ; 
Aminta  from  her  anguish  woke 

To  watch  him  glide  where  shone  the  moon  r 
Like  Eve's,  when  closed  lost  t:den's  gate, 
Her  smothered  sob.     "Ah  !  cruel  fate  !  " 

And  then  there  came  a  dreamless  swoon. 


(I- 


i 


\  I 


!     5 


il 


^  1  !f! 


W 


ml 


fir    h 


T 


BOOK    II 


!?: 


t    !• 


n 


i-tl 


' 


h 


I^HMM 


BOOK  II. 


'^ 


-i    I 


I. 

Ah  !  longing  heart,  what  mean  those  throbs, 
Those  boundless  yearnings  that  aspire 
To  good  that  e'en  may  sate  desire, 

And  free  thee  from  thy  dower  of  sobs  ? 
Frail  human  heart,  thy  acts  so  weak 
A  fallen  child  thee  clear  bespeak, 

Or  one  a  vengeful  spirit  robs. 


i  \  m 


I?  II 


iH 


/T--JS- 


w 


76 


AM/XTA. 


II. 

And  yet,  Capacity  immense, 

Outstretching  far  world's  bounded  ken, 

And  upward  soaring,  mocks  at  men 
Whose  fixed  horizon  is  tlieir  sense  ; 

Capacity,  what  shall  thee  fill  ? 

Ah  !   longing  love,  what  shall  thee  still  ? 
Agnostics  speak  or  get  ye  hence. 


III. 
Hope,  seed-bud  in  each  bosom  lives  ; 

'Twas  Nature's  hand  the  furrow  made, 

And  bade  its  roots  our  souls  pervade, 
And  Nature  now  it  life  dew  gives ; 

Is  Nature  mother  of  a  lie  ? 

Shall  she  her  daughter  Hope  deny  ? 
Is  bliss  a  drink  from  broken  sieves  ? 


, 


AMINTA. 


77 


IV, 

I  live— I  feel— I  know— I  love  ; 
My  slightest  act  laughs  at  the  sham 
Of  Science  guessing  whence  I  am. 

Shall  Folly  then  pretentious  shove 
True  wisdom  from  its  God-built  throne, 
Seat  in  its  stead  a  creed  unknown, 

And  snap  the  chain  that's  linked  above? 


i    f! 


V. 

/  sink  into  unconscious  nought ! 
/  follow  in  the  dreary  wake 
Of  fading  sparks  that  cornstalks  make 

Whose  glow  dies  quick  as  passing  thought? 
/  subject  of  emotions  deep, 
Of  untold  powers  that  calmly  sleep, 

By  hand  divine  divinely  wrought  ? 


I'll 


ui^;r 


11 


IW 


78 


AMIVTA. 


i! 

1  u 


r 


VI. 

Accursed,  and  thrice  accursed  the  creed 

Of  cold  materialism  born, 

Where  death  of  life  is  not  the  morn, 
But  niiiht  eternal  is  our  meed. 

From  me  undying  thoughts  have  birth  ; 

Can  this  be  from  organic  earth 
Devoid  of  life's  undying  seed  ? 

VII. 

Ah !  restless  soul,  wert  thou  the  clay 
A  purblind  science  fain  would  claim 
Thy  needs,  like  brutes,  would  be  the  same 

Like  theirs  of  joy  and  grief  the  way ; 
To-morrow,  thought  unknown  to  thee ; 
The  past,  a  blank  from  memory  free. 

Thy  life  would  center  m  a  day. 


A  MIXTA. 


79 


VIII. 

Go,  search  the  hearts  of  human  kind. 
With  nicest  eye  their  actions  scan, 
And  say  doth  one,  one  only  man 

Blest  in  to-day  thy  science  find  ? 
Before  him  stretch  in  endless  view 
Unnumbered  hours  ;  the  passing  few 

To  these  can  not  his  vision  blind. 


,f. 


IX. 

Add  riches  to  the  richest  store, 
Make  fame  a  captive  in  his  hand, 
Give  him  all  power  on  sea  and  land, 

With  countless  menials  at  his  door. 
Spread  feasts  as  for  a  Sybarite, 
Songs  for  the  ear,  charms  for  the  sight, 

And  still  his  soul  will  long  for  more. 


i     I 


W.-  1 


80 


AMINTA, 


i 


I 


If 

It 


..b 


X. 

How  reads  this  riddle  oi  our  life, 
That  mortals  seek  immortal  joy, 
That  pleasures  here  so  quickly  cloy, 

And  hearts  are  e'en  n  iih  yearnings  rife  ? 
That  love's  blight  morn  no  midday  knows, 
And  dcirkness  comes  ere  even's  close. 

And  fondest  hopes  bear  seeds  of  strife. 

XI. 

Let  fools  deride  ;  Faith's  God-girt  breast 
Their  puny  shafts  can  turn  aside, 
And  mock  with  these    their  sin-born  pride. 

Our  souls  were  made  for  God  the  Best  ; 
'Tis  he  alone  can  satisfy 
Their  every  want,  can  still  each  cry; 

In  him  alone  shall  thev  find  rest. 


!    I 


i«h'  ■■ 


A  MIXTA, 


8l 


1 1 


,vs. 


XII. 

One  ghastly  thought  will  ever  mar 
The  fairest  forms  of  human  skill  ; 
One  lurking  phantom  tells  of   ill, 

Though  faintly  seen  as  lotioned  scar  : 
There  in  the  background  of  each  smile 
The  shadow  rests,  though  hid  erewhile, 

And  points  to  death's  unerring  star. 


le. 


XIII, 

Can  science  banish  not  this  ghost  ? 

Has  art  no  power  the  shade  to  lay  ? 

Must  culture  to  it  tribute  pay, 
And  mingle  'mong  the  rabble  host  ? 

Mock  at  the  medixval  saints 

And  at  the  scene  their  life-work  paints, 
Yet  you,  not  they,  fear  death  the  most. 


82 


A  MIXTA. 


XIV. 

Ah,  stern  Avenger  !  thine  the  power 
Tf)  rend  the  veil  of  passions  born, 
To  turn  to  fears  the  scoffer's  scorn, 

And  show  a  God  with  all  his  dower. 
The  cold  agnostic  dreads  thine  arm, 
Oh  mighty  Death  !  woe,  fear,  alarm, 

Are  his  in  thine  unsjiaring  hour. 


I 


XV. 

]Vide  girded — for  his  shallow  brain 

Deems  knowledge  had  when  scarce  its  shade 
Flits  through  where  sin  a  night  has  made — 

He  strives  to  show  that  faith  is  vain  ; 
A  thousand  fools  aj)proval  cry, 
For  dearly  sinners  love  a  lie, 

And  triumi)h  seems  \.u  grace  his  train. 


de 


c- 


A  MIXTA. 


XVI. 


83 


On,  on,  the  car  its  noisome  way 

Holds  like  another  Juggernaut : 

The  victims  fall  with  i)assions  fraught. 
But  others  join  as  mad  as  they  ; 

"  Hail  mighty  Scientist,"  they  shout  ; 

Like  Jove  he  nods  and  struts  about, 
But  shrieks  and  groans  on  death's  great  day. 

XVII. 

Aye,  such  the  end  of  craven  guilt ; 
Since  Cain  beheld  his  angry  God 
And  cowered  on  the  blood-stained  sod. 

Who  in  their  pride  on  self  had  built — 
A  Julian,  Voltaire,  or  a  Paine — 
Have  ever  feared  Death's  awful  reign, 

His  sheathless  sword  without  a  hilt. 


Ifi 


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XVIII. 

And  she,  Aminta,  hapless  maid, 

Embowered  by  the  bud-burst  vines, 
Frail  as  their  half-formed  leaflets,  pines, 

Of  her  own  fancies  now  afraid. 
Vague  yearnings  for  a  peace  of  soul. 
Vague  thoughts  of  life's  great  after  goal 

Rise  in  her  heart,  but  die  dismayed. 

XIX. 

"What  can  give  peace?"  she  sadly  asks; 

'"  What  bring  a  balm  to  broken  hearts 

From  whose  wrung  fibers  ever  starts 
A  phantom  that  false  joy  unmasks  ? 

Is  there  a  morrow  for  the  dead  ? 

Is  there  a  life  for  those  that  bled 
And  fretted  o'er  earth's  weary  tasks  ? " 


AMIXTA. 


85 


11 


XX. 

*'  Oh,  dread  abyss  !  oh,  viewless  naught ! 

Eternal  shadow  girds  thee  round  ; 

Is  this  the  end  great  spirits  found 
Who  highest  words  of  wisdom  taught  ? 

For  them  no  more  the  throb  of  sense, 

For  them  no  life— a  void  immense — 
Can  it  be  true,  this  crushing  thought?" 

XXI. 

"Oh  love!     Oh  truth!  heroic  deeds! 

Are  ye  the  acme  of  deceit? 

A  lure  to  hearts  that  nobly  beat. 
And  long  to  find  eternal  meeds.? 

If  death  be  life's  completed  page 

All  vain  for  acts  is  other  gauge 

Than  that  which  springs  from  our  own  needs. 
8 


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t 

AMINTA. 


XXII. 


(i  > 


Tis  cold  this  knowledge  of  our  time; 

All  things  must  center  in  myself; 

Naught  has  a  worth  but  that  of  pelf, 
And  virtue  is  the  twin  of  crime  ; 

My  selfish  good  the  highest  law  ; 

To  seek  it  not  the  only  flaw  ; 
Self  is  our  end  and  self  our  prime. 

XXIII. 

"Why  bear  the  fardels  of  earth's  care, 
Unloved,  unsought,  with  sickness  spent, 
With  heart  that  fancies  vain  torment, 

And  cloud  each  morn  with  bleak  despair? 
A  tiny  draught  would  end  my  woe — 
False  Coroman  might  feel  the  blow, 

And  think  of  her  he  once  thought  fair. 


A.V/XTA. 


87 


XXIV. 

"But  yet,  if  true  Mathilda's  creed, 

Who  dare  would  face  His  awful  throne 
And  see  a  God  he  would  not  own, 

And  hear  a  fate  by  him  decreed  ? 
A  sore  dilemma  is  my  lot — 
To  live  unloved,  despised,  forgot, 

Or  tread  where  death  perchance  may  lead." 

XXV. 

Thus  moaned  Aminta  ;    and  her  woe 
A  pall-like  cloud  on  blackest  night, 
Unlit  by  ray  of  Hope's  fair  light, 

Did  round  her  heart  its  darkness  throw  ; 
How  vain  in  moments  such  as  these 
Are  wealth  and  art  and  shams  to  case 

The  sorrows  that  from  dead  faith  flow  I 


1    ■ 

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a. 


'  ii 


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•' 


88 


AMINTA, 


XXVI. 

Earth  was  for  her  life's  chiefcst  sum, 
And  she  the  chiefest  thought  of  life; 
She  little  recked  how  much,  of  strife 

To  proud,  cold  hearts  must  ever  come. 
To  tliose  who  gird  with  self  the  earth, 
And  think  for  self  each  flower  has  birth, 

Great  Nature  is  forever  dumb. 


i? 


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i 


1 

ii 

1 

r 

1 

Lli; 

XXVII. 

Who  restless  seek  fresh  joys  to  find, 
To  drink  sweet  nectar  from  each  cup, 
Who  test  the  flavor  of  each  sup, 

Shall  be  the  sport  of  Fate  unkind. 
Love  duty,  ease  your  neighbor's  load. 
Learn  life  is  but  an  episode, 

And  grateful  peace  will  fill  your  mind. 


'    ■ 


AM/XTA. 

XXVIII. 
Grief  is  the  offspring  of  our  hearts, 

Begotten  of  a  selfish  thought; 

It  springs  to  life,  and  bears  self-wrought, 
A  c[uiver  with  a  thousand  darts  ; 

Each  poisoned  shaft  is  selfward  bent  ; 

Think  of  yourself,  a  dart  is  sent, 
And  with  such  thoughts  increase  the  smarts. 


89 


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XXIX. 

As  sunbeams  through  a  fissure  shine 
And  light  beneath  a  gloomy  cave, 
Or  like  the  glint  on  peaceful  wave 

While  dark  the  underbearing  brine, 
So  on  great  souls  that  look  afield, 
And  self  to  duty  grandly  yield 

There  softly  falls  a  joy  divine. 


Ill: 


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90 


A  MIXTA. 


XXX. 

How  could  Aminta  grasp  a  truth 
That  Faith  divine  alone  can  teach? 
Could  she  beyond  her  false  creed  reach 

And  learn  what  Christians  learn  in  youth, 
Then  o'er  her  furrowed  soul  iniijht  fall 
In  gentle  dro[)s,  the  grand  cure-all, 

The  grace  that  comes  from  God's  own  ruth. 

XXXI. 

Beside  Aminta  sat  two  maids, 

Both  fair  of  form,  and  yet  dark  night 
Less  widely  differs  from  the  light 

Than  do  those  ever-changing  shades 
That  o'er  their  faces  dance  and  flit  ; 
A  lily  one,  with  sunshine  lit, 

And  one  a  gladiole  that  fades. 


if 


A  MIXTA, 
XXXII. 

Aminta  saw  as  in  a  glass 
Her  image  in  this  latter  girl. 
Around  they  spin  in  error's  whirl, 

Like  broken  wheels  that  jarring  pass  ; 
One,  mistress,  cultured  fair  aisthete  ; 
One,  maid,  with  novel  lore   replete — 

The  souls  of  both  like  shriveled  grass. 

XXXIII. 

To  her  Aminta  slowly  turned 

And  spoke  with  low,  pathetic  voice  : 
*'  Rosina,  why  do  some  rejoice. 

And  why  by  Fate  are  others  spurned  ? 
What  hand  of  envy  from  the  urn 
The  Furies  in  their  anger  turn 

Has  drawn  my  lot  by  crime  unearned  ? 


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AMINTA. 


XXXIV. 

''  Canst  tell  some  tale  or  legend  wild 
To  soothe  the  anguish  of  an  hour  ? 
Such  words  agnostics  hold  have  power 

Beyond  the  Chr'stian's  creed  defiled." 
Rosina,  \\  ith  a  wistful  smile : 
"  I'll  tell  a  tale  of  love  the  while, 

The  story  of  the  fire-king's  child." 

Rosina's  Tale. 

Where  Hecla  spurts  its  flame  and  smoke, 
Where  grimy  ashes  sear  the  grass, 

A  rock  beneath,  the  fire-sprite  spoke 
As  gazed  she  on  a  magic  glass  : 

"  Earth,  fire  and  smoke,  snow,  frost,  and  ice, 
Then  have  I  only  dreamt  the  scene ; 


AMINTA. 


93 


I  laid  me  down — 'tis  but  a  trice, 

And  must  have  only  dreamt  a  dream. 
And  yet  my  glass  was  ever  neai  ; 

In  it  I  thought  I  saw  the  change ; 
Can  I  recall  each  pulse  of  fear 

As  felt  I  each  emotion  strange  ? 
Afar  I  saw  the  spot  called  Earth  ; 

In  it  no  race  of  mortals  dwell, 
Yet  age  by  age,  as  for  their  birth, 

It  changed  beneath  a  quickening  spell. 
My  home  a  planet  hung  in  space ; 

Smoke,  fire  and  ice  and  frost,  and  snow; 
No  other  of  my  hapless  race, 

Alone,  unloved,  with  deathless  woe 
I  kept  my  watch — I,  doomed  to  be 

The  guardian  sprite  of  burning  hills ; 


HI 


And  yet  it  sometimes  seemed  to  me 


Hi 


94 


A  MINT  A. 


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(5 


u    :i 


A  kindly  death  might  end  my  ills. 
Nor  was  I  always  thus  alone  ; 

Nor  was  I  always  thus  in  tears — 
But  hark  !   'tis  his,  his  very  tone, 

Though  now  unheard  for  fifty  years. 
What  are  the  words  ?     The  self-same  few 

He  sadly  sang  when  called  away, 
To  make  me  feel  how  well  he  knew 

My  love  from  him  could  never  stray. 
How  sweet  they  fall  upon  the  ear  ! 

I'll  sing  them  in  this  lonely  place  ; 
Perchance  he  lists  and  may  appear — 

Oh,  joy  to  look  upon  his  face  ! " 


SPRITE  sings. 


"  But  apart  from  the  fear  and  the  sigh, 
Apart  from  the  gleaming,  tear-lit  eye. 


AMINTA. 

Apart  from  the  half-muttered  vows, 
There's  more  that  my  faith  doth  arouse 
In  the  lingering  look  from  the  soul 
Striving  to  speak  unspeakable  dole." 


95 


"  Alas !  they're  echoes  from  his  grave, 

Sweetly  roused  by  Love's  potent  art  ; 
But  echoes  have  no  power  to  save, 

Nor  balm  to  ease  the  bleeding  heart. 
Ah  my  true  glass,  show  me  again 

The  scenes  and  days  of  long  ago  ; 
Their  memory  will  not  cause  such  pain 

As  that  of  lonely  grief  and  woe. 
I  see  them  now;    there  stands  our  home, 

The  cradle  of  our  race  ;    the  mount, 
The  plain  where  we  did  }'outhful  roam  ; 

But  not  a  stream,  but  not  a  fount. 


•i 


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!    . 


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■  : 


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96 


Volcanoes  rage  in  endless  wrath  ; 

Our  pbnet  trembles  in  its  course; 
The  lava  chokes  each  beaten  path, 

And  quakes  each  heart  before  such  force. 
I  see  tliern  die — my  blighted  race ; 

Entombed,  or  withered  by  a  blast 
Of  burning  air  ;    and  then  the  face 

I  loved  ;    and  I  am  left  the  last. 
The  fires  die  out ;    I  wander  then 

Round  craters  cold,  o'er  valleys  dark  ; 
Sameness  there  is,  and  night,  as  when 

Goes  from  the  soul  of  hope  each  spark. 
Here  aimless  beds  whose  rocky  edge 

No  sparkling  waters  ever  lave ; 
Here  banks  where  neither  grass  nor  sedge 

In  sportive  breezes  ever  wave. 
A  dreary  waste  ;    stern  piles  of  rock, 


AMINTA. 

Without  a  shrub  or  plant  or  tree  ; 
Of  all  our  race  the  last  rude  shock 

Left  none  alive  but  wretched  me. 
Afar  fair  earth  in  beauty  smiled  ; 

I  saw,  then  sank  into  a  swoon, 
Its  brightness  had  my  soul  beguiled — 

I  came  to  it  from  yonder  moon. 
And  now  that  planet,  stern  and  cold, 

Its  aspect  hides  with  borrowed  light, 
And  wins  the  love  of  young  and  old 

Though  o'er  it  reigns  eternal  blight. 
And  earth,  so  fair  when  viewed  afar. 

Is  lire  and  smoke  and  snow  and  ice; 
Oh,  that  I  were  in  yonder  star  ! 

sath  were  but  t* 


97 


my 


price 


»? 


Spoke  sadly  thus  with  plaintive  tone 
The  fire-sprite  from  her  recess  lone ; 


Hi 


■I 


i 


li  '  I    r«i(iij 


r 


I 


98 


AMAVTA. 

And  as  she  sighed,  there  smote  the  air 
A  voice  that  blended  with  despair 
Of  yearning  hope  a  something  mild, 
But  yet  expressed  in  accents  wild. 
It  seemed  to  rise  the  rocks  among, 
And  this  the  burden  of  its  song — 


XXXV. 

**  Rosina,  hush  !  "  Aminta  spoke  ; 

"  Such  saddening  strains  no  longer  sing, 
Not    peace,    not    rest,    these    weird    words 
bring  ; 

Faint  echoes  from  a  heart  that  broke, 
In  dreamless  sorrow  like  to  mine, 
They  touch  a  chord  no  hand  but  thine, 

False  Coroman,  had  e'er  awoke. 


s 


S 


AM/XTA. 


99 


XXXVI. 

''Ah,  why  those  passions  of  the  soul 
That  restless  seek  an  unknown  good, 
That  strive  for  joys  not  understood 

And  mock  our  boasted  self-control? 
In  girlhood  days  they  calmly  slept  ; 
My  sorrow  then  but  joy  that  wept, 

For  both  hinged  on  the  self-same  pole. 


M 


XXXVII. 

"  Deep  in  our  heart  unfelt  there  lies 
Of  all  our  painful  thoughts  the  germ; 
When  years  have  brought  the  given  term 

It  sprouts  and  bears  its  fruit  of  sighs. 
Is  this  a  law  that  helps  to  solve 
The  riddles  that  our  lives  evolve, 

And  makes  us  more  than  Plato  wise.? 


J - 


I. 


\i  ■ 


P! 


ICXD 


A  MINT  A. 


I'i 


!  1, 


i     11 

1  ?  *» 


XXXVIII. 

"Is  this  another  name  for  Fate? 

Do  lives  run  in  a  destined  groove, 

Stern  ruled  by  laws   that  naught  can  move, 
And  love  enforced,  and  enforced  hate? 

Why  blame  I,  then,  lost  Coroman  ? 

He  loved  for  the  allotted  span, 
But  from  the  dream  I  woke  too  late. 

XXXIX. 

"  And  yet  this  teaching  of  our  school 
Would  leave  my  actions  never  free. 
Would  class  a  crime  with  purity, 

And  make  us  but  our  passion's  tool  : 
Nor  wrong,  nor  right  could  then  remain, 
No  deeds  of  worth,  of  sin  no  stain, 

If  laws  firm  fixed  emotions  rule. 


AMINTA, 


lOI 


XL. 


U  r 


Thy  creed,  Mathilda,  Science  fears. 
Else  'twere  a  restful,  glad  belief ; 
It  gives  the  stricken  heart  relief 

By  whispering  of  eternal  years. 
But  superstition  can  not  fill 
A  mind  that  scales  the  lofty  hill 

Of  Science,  though  her  pay  be  tears." 


r^'i 


XLI. 

As  when  a  basking  serpent  charms 
Gay  plumaged  bird  in  Lima's  dells, 
The  victim  feels  the  charmer's  spells, 

And  yields,  but  still  'mid  dire  alarms ; 
E'en  so  Aminta  dreads  the  lure 
Agnostics  spread,  but  insecure, 

Yields  with  a  sigh  that  wrath  disarms. 


If 


,       f 


m 


i 


I   I 


102 


AMINTA, 


XLII. 

Oh,  had  she  felt  the  joys  untold, 

The  soul  rest  born  of  our  dear  creed, 
So  apt  to  meet  man's  every  need, 

And  loving  science  new  and  old  ! 
True  science,  not  a  bastard  sham, 
Its  father  vice,  and  pride  its  dam. 

Then  had  she  sought  the  saving  fold. 

XLIII. 

In  it  alone  is  reason  free  ; 

In  it  alone  the  arts  excel ; 

In  it,  as  peaceful  sisters,  dwell 
God's  word  and  high  philosophy. 

But  those  who  glory  in  the  shame 

Of  ever-shifting  creeds,  proclaim 
That  they  have  left  its  slavery  ! 


1.^ :  if 


f 


A  MINT  A, 


103 


i, 


XLIV. 

As  when  a  blinded  mob  o'erthrew 
A  ruler  gentle,  just,  and  wise, 
They  shouted  :    "  Freedom  is  our  prize, 

Down  with  the  old,  long  live  the  new  !  " 
Soon  on  their  neck  the  iron  heel 
Of  tyrant  feet  they  helpless  feel, 

And  taste  rebellion's  fitting  due. 


XLV. 

So  wayward  is  the  human  heart, 
They  sing  of  wrested  liberty; 
E'en  thus  those  souls  in  heresy 

Who  from  God's  kingdom  stand  apart; 
The  cowering  slaves  of  unbelief. 
They  grasp  at  phantoms  for  relief, 

But  hurl  at  Mother  Church  a  dart. 


HI 


Pi 


\i\  ""^ 


!l 'li . 


ill 


104 


AMJA'TA. 


XLVI. 
Vain  arc  their  darts.     Majestic  still, 

Like  giant  rock  on  Alpine  crest, 

With  faith  an  armor  for  her  breast. 
She  stands  above  all  human  ill. 

She  broke  the  pagan  power  of  yore; 

Her  robes  are  dyed  with  martyr's  gore ; 
She  fear  agnostics'  puny  will ! 

XLVII. 

O !  Church  divine  !  a  virgin  fair, 
And  yet  enriched  with  motherhood, 
Like  her  who  'neath  the  Holy  Rood 

Saw  die  her  son  without  despair ; 
The  ages  add  but  to  thy  grace ; 
No  spot,  no  wrinkle  on  thy  face; 

The  seal  of  God  alone  is  there. 


&■■ 


n  '■ 


AMLVTA. 


105 


XLVIII. 

Aminta  yet  may  see  thy  light  ; 

Her  selfish  heart  may  cease  to  grieve  ; 

The  lessons  that  thy  great  saints  leave 
Can  stop  our  moans,  when  learned  aright. 

Peace  here  to  those  who  conquer  self, 

Eternal  crowns  unbought  by  pelf 
To  those  who  triumph  in  the  fight. 

XLIX. 

Mathilda  with  deft  fingers  wove 

A  mimic  frieze  of  knotted  twine  ; 

Like  tracery  on  an  ancient  shrine, 
Or  boughs  enlaced  in  linden  grove, 

The  woven  cords  took  form  and  grace  ; 

The  fretted  work  that  artists  trace 
'Gainst  this  in  beauty  weighted  strove. 


\i\ 


1 


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'i 

H 

1 

•  1 

i| 

f 

Bsi 

t 

■)    ■ 


io6 


AMI  NT  A, 


L. 


Like  heart's-ease  tipped  with  morning  dew 
Her  trustful  eyes  had  pleading  look ; 
A  changing  light  they  ever  took 

From  violet  to  an  azure  blue ; 
But  yet  their  depths  were  sweetly  calm, 
Soul-moving  as  a  prophet's  psalm, 

And  like  its  vision  fair  and  true. 

LI. 

She  mourned  Aminta's  cultured  pride. 
And  bright  Rosina's  thoughtless  ways  ; 
She  grieved  as  passed  their  *dle  days 

That  they  had  known  no  heavenly  guide  ; 
Their  empty  souls  she  longed  to  fill, 
Their  aimless  yearnings  and  their  will 

To  God  from  earth  to  turn  aside. 


AMINTA, 


Lll. 


To  her  xVminta  weeping  yet — 

"  Mathilda,  canst  thou  naught  relate 
To  ease  a  heart  sore  bruised  by  fate, 

Whose  sun  of  life  will  quickly  set?" 
With  cheering  smile  Mathilda  spoke; 
"  My  tale,  I  trust,  will  peace  evoke  ; 

I'll  tell  what  made  a  monk  forget." 


107 


Mathilda's  Tale. 

Out  from  the  gate  walked  a  monk  in  brown, 
Out  to  the  woods,  away  from  the  town  : 
Silent  he  trod,  his  eyes  bent  on  earth. 
His  thoughts  of  heaven  and  the  Saviour's  birth. 
Bright  shone  the  sun  on  leaflet  and  twig  ; 
Bloomed  here  the  olive    and  here  the  fig; 


I 


m 


'  V 


III 


''  il  '■ 


It^ 


1 08 


AMINTA. 


Peeped  through  the  shrubs  a  white  rose  in  bloom, 
Like  hope  to  man  through  the  riven  tomb ; 
Wild  grew  the  blossoms  of  flowerets  fair, 
Rich  with  their  perfume  the  fragrant  air  ; 
Decked    in    bright    robes    earth    smiled    to    the 

,  sky, 
Azure  girt  then  this  smiled  in  reply. 
Ceaseless  the  hum  from  insect  and  bird, 
Bleated  the  lambkin,  and  lowed  the  herd  \ 
Life  was  their  boon,  no  shadow  it  bore, 
Free  the  pasture — what  wanted  they  more  ? 
Spoke  loud  of  God  the  fair  scene  around, 
Herbs,  fruit,  and  flowers  his  praises  sound. 
God,  sang  the  bird  watching  its  nest ; 
God,  piped  the  hopper  never  at  rest ; 
God,  breathed  the  zephyr  dying  away  ; 
God,  spoke  the  sun  from  its  sevenfold  ray. 


\    ' 


ilL  J 


AMIXTA. 


109 


I 


Such  was  the  day,  such  all  lives  will  give 

When   bursts   from    the   heart — "  Thank   God    I 

live !  " 

Out  to  the  woods  the  monk  bent  his  way  ; 

Took  from  his  girdle  the  beads  to  pray. 

Deep  in  the  shade  he  rested  awhile  ; 

Beamed,  like  the  woods,  his  face  with  a  smile. 

Bright  from  a  rock  near  his  shady  seat, 

Fell,  with  the  sound  of  pattering  feet, 

Down  'mid  the  moss  a  silvery  stream, 

Fair  as  a  wavelet  seen  in  a  dream  ; 

Kissed  by  its  spray,  the  shy  violet  smiled  ; 

Lichens  and  mosses  the  eye  beguiled. 

Far  in  the  dell  a  shadow  was  thrown. 

Dark  as  the  soul  whence  hope  hath  just  flown. 

High  on  the  hill,  through  the  shimmering  leaves. 

Seen  as  a  shower,  the  sunshine  cleaves. 
zo 


^ii 


m 


mr 


■  s 


Mi 


IIO 


AMINTA. 


Gazed  the  old  monk  with  a  thankful  eye. 

"  Fair  is  the  earth  and  fair  is  the  sky ; 

God  of  the  tempest,  God  of  the  calm, 

What    must     be     heaven     when    here    is    such 

balm!" 
Spoke  thus  the  monk  in  a  prayerful  tone  ; 
Died  midst  the  leaves  a  zephyr's  faint  moan  ; 
Broke  from  the  throat  of  an  unknown  bird 
Strains  such  as  never  the  old  monk  heard. 
Low  was  the  key,  and  soft  was  the  note, 
Like  siglis  of  love  that  in  dream-land  float, 
Faint  grew  the  thoughts  of  earthborn  care, 
Turned  were  his  breathings  to  silent  prayer. 
Straight  to   God's   throne  his   prayer  breathings 

went. 
Straight  from  God's  throne  deep  heart  joys  were 

sent. 


, 


: 


AMIXTA. 


Ill 


such 


Knit  with  the  song  the  Httle  bird  ga-e, 
Floated  on  high,  like  a  sun-tipped  wave, 
Prayer  from  the  monk  to  the  God  above; 
Sated  his  soul  with  the  might  of  love. 
How  long  did  he  list  ?  he  could  not  tell  ; 
When  ended  the  song  he  heard  a  bell. 
"Ave  Maria"  smote  on  his  ear. 
But  the  bell  sound  woke  an  unknown  fear. 
Changed  were  its  tones,  or  did  he  but  dream? 
Had  the  song  made  old  notes  harsher  seem  ? 
Rock-born,  the  rill  there  babbled  along. 
Spray  kissed  the  moss  the  violets  among  ; 
Yet   there    was   change;    and    now   there   seems 

not, 
As  one  may  dream  of  a  well-known  spot. 
Back  to  his  cell  the  monk  hastened  now, 
,  Seamed  are  his  cheeks  and  furrowed  his   brow  ; 


'U\ 


|::-= 


(^f 


i'^" 


K 

r 

I' 

h 
lit 


1  t 


I  Ml 


112 


AMINTA. 


Trembling  his  step,  and  halting  his  gait. 
"  Who  rings  at  our  door  at  hour  so  late  ? " 
Spoke  through  the  wicket   a  brother  old  ; 
*'  Open  !  'tis  I  just  come  from  the  wold." 
Back  to  the  chain  the  oaken  door  swung. 
"  What  dost  thou  want,  and  why  hast  thou  rung  ? " 
Spoke  thus  the  brother  standing  within. 
''Peace,"    said    the    monk;    "knowcst    me    not, 

Paulin .'  " 
Each  gazed  on  each  with  a  wondering  fear  ; 
Each  voice  smote  strange  on  the  other's  ear. 
Well  were  their  words  to  each  other  known, 
But  strange  was  the  key,  and  strange  the  tone. 
The  monk  without  struck  an  old-time  note  ; 
Rough,  though  well  cut,  the  syllables  float ; 
The  voice  within  took  a  softer  key, 
Less  lordly  and  from  a  lisp  less  free. 


not, 


A  MINT  A.  11^ 

Art     thou     a     friar    from     some     clime     un- 
known ? 
Whom  dost  thou  seek,  and  hither  how  blown?" 
Thus  spake  the  porter  with  nervous  dread, 
Such  as  is  brought  by  the  unhoused  dead. 
He  from  without  gave  a  weary  sigh. 
"  Brother,  I  come  from   the  copse,  here   nigh ; 
At  noon  I  sat  by  the  rock-born  spring, 
Erewhile  from  the  grove  did  sweetly  sing — 
Angel,  or  bird,  that  of  heaven  spoke, 
Hours  flew  past,  then  to  earth  I  awoke 
As  the  Ave  bell,  soft  through  the  gloam, 
Hymned  to  the  Virgin  and  called  us  home. 
Methought  as  I  came  I  saw  a  change, 
And  thou,  Paulin,  hast  an  accent  strange; 
And  e'en  thy  face  in  the  coming  haze, 
Seems  as  of  one  unknown  to  my  gaze." 


Km 


I:: 


U 


ni  I 


1if 

.1 

i  ■; 

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' 

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i     ■ 

ni  ' 

III 

;    . 


ri' 


1 14  AAf/.VTA. 

"  I    know    thee    not,"    spake    the     monk   with- 
in, 
"  None  are  out ;  my  name  is  not  Paulin." 
*'  Call  me  the  prior,  brother,  I  pray, 
What  meancth  the  riddle  he  can  say." 
Slow  from  the  church  came  the  prior  old, 
Broken  and  seared,  his  heart  is  yet  bold. 
"  Open,"  he  said  ;    "  let  the  weary  rest ; 
To-night  let  him  be  our  honored  guest." 
As  the  oak  door  swung  with  a  grating  sound 
The  brother  without  sank  on  the  ground. 
With  loving  care  they  make  him  a  bed. 
And  the  prior  prayed  as  the  hours  sped. 
With  rosy  dawn  the  guest  Jound  his  speech, 
And  e'en  as  he  spoke  he  strove  to  reach 
From  its  rusty  hook  the  card  that  bore 
The  brothers'  names  in  a  written  score. 


A  MIXTA. 


lU 


with- 


And  he  trembling  learned  that  years  gone  by 
He     strayed     from      home     to     the     woodland 
nigh  ; 

"  And    thrice    on    each    day "  —  so    reads    the 

scroll — 
"  For  long  weary  months  the  bell  did  toll  ; 
And  we  mourned  for  him  as  for  the  dead, 
Though  we  know  not  how  his  spirit  fled." 
With  a  wistful  gaze  he  scanned  the  room, 
And  notes  that  now  there  is  less  of  gloom ; 
Old  objects  seem  to  lurk  in  the  shade, 
And  strange  ones  bask  in  a  light  new  made. 
"  The    same,  but    changed  ;    what    meaneth    the 
spell  ? 

Oh  !  brother  speak,  and  the  mystery  tell. 
Methought  at  noon  of  the  day  just  passed, 
I  sat  me  down  by  the  streamlet  fast, 


i. 


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1 1 


in 


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1 

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..  -. 

"1- 

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■  1  ; 

1       ^;;(i! 

■  1 

t  t  '  1 

:M 

J 

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1 

^L 

ii6 


A  MIXTA. 


And  heard  for  a  time  such  notes  of  song 
As  to  heaven,  not  earth,  must  sure  belong ; 
And  yet  as  I  look  an  unknown  change 
With     well  -  known     sights     mingles     new     and 

strange ; 
And     the     name     list     tells     that     years     three 

score 
Have  passed  since  I  left  this  convent  door." 
The  prior  gazed,  and  his  gaze  flashed  truth, 
Then  he  slowly  said  :    **  In  my  early  youth 
From     our     gates    went     forth    a    monk     quite 

old 
Who  took  uis  way  to  yon  silent  wold  ; 
And  now  as  I  gaze  methinks  I  see 
Come  back  to  life  his  features  in  thee  ; 
Thou  art  surely  he  !    Fra  Bruno,  speak." 
"  'Tis  I,  'tis  I,"  came  in  accents  weak. 


A  MIXTA. 


n; 


three 


"Ah!  brother,"  spoke  the  mild  old  priur, 
"  Thrice  happy  thou  to  have  heard  the  choir 
That  echoes  strains  from  the  courts  above, 
And  in  endless  keys  proclaim  God's  love. 
Thus  in  deathless  joy  years  linger  not, 
For  pain,  time's  measure,  is  there  forgot. 
The  three  score  ^  '.ars  that  thou  wast  awav. 
Passed  all  in  bliss,  seemed  but  as  a  day  ; 
And     thus     may     we     learn    what    heaven    can 

give 
Since  its  echoes  so  charm  those  that  live." 
Fra  Bruno  heard,  but  his  prisoned  soul 
Yearned  now  for  life's  eternal  goal ; 
Its  foretaste  of  joy  disgust  had  bred 
For  pleasures  that  die  ere  we  are  dead. 
The  monks  came  round  the  old  brother's  couch 
That  they  might,  too,  for  this  wonder  vouch. 


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5          ' 

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IB    'V  V 


ir?  'til 


ii8 


A  MIXTA. 


They  heard  with  deep  awe  Fra  Bruno's  tale, 
And  silent  they  vowed,  with  faces  pale, 
To  suffer  in  life,  for  God,  all  loss. 
To  bravely  bear  the  heaviest  cross, 
That  joy  eternal  might  be  their  meed, 
Where  tears  flow  not,  and  hearts  never  bleed ; 
Where  time  has  ceased  its  deceitful  play, 
And  endless  years  are  bu^  as  a  day. 

LIII. 

Mathilda  ceased.     A  softened  smile 

Lit  up  Aminta's  brooding  face. 

As  sunbeams  shadows  j)iayful  chase 
Till  all  are  bathed  in  light  the  while. 

So  on  her  brow  the  night  of  shade 

That  fondled  sorrow  there  had  made 
Grew  bright  as  eye  unknown  to  guile. 


|.S 


AMIXTA. 


119 


LIV. 

"  Oh,  would  that  it  were  not  a  tale ! 

So  beautiful  and  quaint  it  seems, 

Like  thoughts  that  float  in  childhood's  dreams 
Ere  life  has  entered  Care's  dark  vale. 

Oh,  were  such  songsters  in  our  bowers, 

I'd  dream  away  the  tardy  hours, 
In  rapture  drowning  all  my  wail." 

LV. 

Thus  spoke  Aminta,  and  she  sighed 

As  one  who  fain  in  doubt  believes; 

A  strange  new  joy  e'en  then   relieves 
Her  bruise  worn  hopes,  and  softens  pride  ; 

On  night's  chill  air  day's  after  balm 

Wafts  to  the  soul  a  lesser  calm 
Than  o'er  her  senses  seems  to  glide. 


5    I 


■i.\ 


iiii: 


120 


AMINTA. 


\flM\ 


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i;  i 


Si 


■I, 


^^^^^H  ^ 

ill' 

■1 
\ 

1 

1  ^ 

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■  !  ■ 

^^H 

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.    ,'     ' 

^H' 

HI  i  \ 

'i 

■imii 

\  * ' 

1 ' 

^B 

11 

<■ 

^^^H . 

;    )|t 

\ 

^■:  Mfif  i! 

\\ 

i- 

l.,IL  1 

11' 

^^^^H 

^  \ 

LVI. 

The  touching  tale  like  glistening  dew 
Fell  on  a  heart  not  dead  but  seared ; 
Her  angel,  softly  wliispering,  neared 

And  o'er  her  soul  a  grace  ray  threw ; 
Of  Hope  the  nevei -dying  seeds 
That  germ  e'en  in  a  math  of  -.veeds, 

Warmed  by  that  ray  to  flowers  grew. 

•  •  •  t  •  •  • 

LVII. 

The  summer  days  on  golden  wing 

Through  Time's  unmeasured  cycle  sped  ; 
Like  humming  birds  by  instinct  led, 

They  follow  in  the  wake  of  spring  ; 
Calm  autumn,  girt  with  russet  sheaves. 
With  chaplet  wove  from  love-touched  leaves, 

Of  answered  promise  came  the  king. 


A  MIXTA. 


121 


LVIII. 

How  sweetly  comes  great  Nature's  death  ! 

Her  gorgeous  tints  speak  not  of  woe  ; 

She  sinks  and  dies  without  a  throe, 
And  Ijlesses  with  her  latest  breath  ; 

Hope  shines  from  out  her  garnered  store, 

And  tells  that  as  in  days  of  yore, 
When  Abel  dies  there  comes  a  Seth. 


/ 


11^ 


LIX. 

To  God  we  gladly  leave  death's  hour, 

His  every  counsel  is  the  best ; 

Yet  might  we  make  this  one  request, 
To  fade  with  grass  and  leaf  and  flower  ; 

On  some  October  day  to  die 

When  sun-decked  earth  smiles  to  the  sky, 

And  then  be  laid  in  sunlit  bower. 
zx 


(    «*w 


T  O-? 


AMINTA, 


!in 


'  \  ■  \ 


LX. 

No  gloomy  cypress  round  our  grave  ; 
But  when  our  obscure  race  is  run 
We'd  sleep  where  brightest  shines  the  sun, 

And  dews  the  pansies  soonest  lave  ; 

A  cross — the  pledge  of  life-sought  prize— 
These  simple  words — lie   shall  arise — 

This,   this  the  boon   I  fain  would  crave. 

LXI. 

Aminta,  on  her  weary  bed, 

In  painless  dying  wore  away  ; 

A  hectic  flush   like  sunset  ray 
Her  face  distinguished  from   the  dead; 

J. ike  beauty  of  an  uutnmn  eve 

When  parting  beams  their  shadows  leave 
The  grace  of  yore  wreathed   round  her  head. 


AMINTA. 


123 


LXII. 

The  quickened  breath,  the  throbbing  beat 
Of  timid  pulse — the  nerveless  hand 
Now  cold  as  death's  relentless  wand, 

Now  burning  with  a  febrile  heat — 
All  these  proclaim  that  veiled  disease 
That  fills  life's  cup  with  deadly  lees, 

Yet  makes  the  mixture  passing  sweet. 


LXIII. 

Aminta  spoke  with  docile  tone  : 

"How  blind,  how  blind  my  useless  years! 

I  sowed  in  pride,   I  reaped  in  tears, 
And  now  my  life  is  all  but  flown. 

I  worshiped  at  the  shrine  of  Art 

With  cultured  mind  nnd  pagan  heart, 
The  God  of  beauty  left  unknown  ! 


w 


f.  «m 


m  M\ 


124 


AMINTA, 


■ 

I 

mk"  '■ 

HI '  '^'  'i 

hU      >^,    ^ 

"  pi     's,ii  i 

1 1 1  6 

fil'l 

LXIV. 

"  I  dreamed  of  Arnold  and  his  school, 

I  read  his  every  rhythmic  page ; 

I  conned  the  works  of  Concord's  sage, 
The  man  true  wisdom  calls  a  fool ; 

Ah  me  !    the  lost,  lost  years  of  life  ! 

My  lowest  servant's  Christian  wife 
Than  they  can  give  a  wiser  rule. 

LXV. 

"False  sentiment,  unmeaning  phrase 
Of  light  and  beauty,  good  and  true, 
A  creed  that  held  to  match  a  hue 

Was  more  than  highest  moral  praise  ; 
These,  these  the  trifles — Oh,  how  vain! 
We  vaunted  as  man's  noblest  gain. 

And  aimless  groped  in  truth's  by-ways. 


AMINTA. 


125 


LXVI. 

**  Mathilda,  will  my  God  forget- 
That  God  you  taught  my  soul  to  know, 
And  joyed  a  heart  where  reigned  but  woe— 

The  vice,  the  whims  I  now  regret  ? 
In  mercy's  sheath  will  justice  hide 
The  sword  that  smote  Balthasar's  pride, 

And  lead  me  where  no  sin-griefs  fret  ? " 

LXVII. 

A  shadow  crossed  Aminta's  face  ; 

Sin's  shadow  stood  beside  her  bed  ; 

But  soon  the  evil   spirit  fled 
As  sweet  Mathilda  took  her  place— 

An  angel,  yes,  in  human  guise, 

Who  sought  Aminta's  soul  for  prize  - 
And  spoke  this  wonder  tale  of  grace  ; 


m 


M 

■ 

i 

■1  i 

1 

\\ 

M 

126 


AMINTA, 


LXVIII. 
"Old  time,  impatient  of  command, 

A  son  had  left  his  father's  home ; 

His  wealth  ill-spent,  was  forced  to  roam 
And  herd  swine  in  a  foreign  land  ; 

The  husks  the  herd  beneath  them  tread 

He  gladly  ate  for  daily  bread, 
And  trembled  'neath  his  master's  hand. 


lil 

i 

J 

pi 

■  X 

t 

i  j 

■ 

■^ 

.'■ 

i 

, -I   H 

Liu 
J' 


LXIX. 

"'This,  then,  the  freedom  I  have  sought? 

For  this  I  cast  aside  the  yoke 

Of  Father's  home — for  this  I  broke 
His  loving  heart,  and  even  thought 

My  wretched  deed  a  deed  to  boast ! 

Ah,  father,  when  I  suffer  most 
To  thee  my  heart  is  nearer  brought.' 


AMINTA. 


LXX. 


127 


*'Keen  Sorrow's  rod  with  pelting  blows 

The  sin-wrought  crust  broke  from  his  soul ; 

Love  now  his  passions  can  control, 
His  chastened  heart  with  hope  now  glows. 

Afflictions  are  not  sent  in  vain  ; 

We  turn  to  God  in  greatest  pain, 
From  woe  our  best  amendment  flows. 


fii 


ll 


LXXI. 

"And  thus  the  erst  unfilial  son 
His  father's  slighted  love  bewails, 
It,  it  alone  when  all  else  fails 

Will  pardon  grant  for  worst  ill  done  ; 
And  thus  with  tender  thoughts  of  home 
He  ceased  to  fear,  he  ceased  to  gloam, 

And  speaking  thus  his  tears  fast  run  : 


\% 


m  ' 

7 

m 

if 

* 

1 

V 

M; 


! 


II! 


1        f 


128 


AMINTA. 


LXXII. 


*' '  How  many  round  my  father's  hearth, 
Though  servants,  are  abundant  fed  ? 
They  never  know  the  want  of  bread. 

And  I  here  perish  from  its  dearth  ! 
To  father,  then,  I'll  humble  go, 
My  guilt  proclaim,  then,  bowing  low, 

Renounce  the  privilege  of  n^y  birth.' 

LXXIII. 

"Afar  his  son  the  father  spied; 

On  wings  of  mercy  forth  he  came  ; 

Joy  swallowed  up  all  cause  of  blame, 
And  falling  on  his  neck,  he  cried : 

*  Before  thee,  father,'  spake  the  boy, 

*  And  heaven,  I  sinned  ;   in  thy  employ 
As  servant  let  me  now  be  tried.' 


iti 


„1      ':' 


A  MINT  A, 


129 


>(  ( 


LXXIV. 

Haste,  haste ! '  the  fiither  spoke  mid  tears ; 

*  The  finest  robe  forth  quickly  bring  ; 

Upon  his  finger  place  a  ring ; 
Shoes  for  his  feet;  the  fatted  steers 

Quick  kill  ;    prepare  the  merry  feast 

For  this  my  son,  from  death  released, 
Returns,  though  lost  for  many  years.'  " 

LXXV. 

Aminta  heard  the  biblic  tale ; 

She  felt  the  might  of  love  divine  ; 

Soul  bending  by  the  Godhead's  shrine, 
To  joy  was  changed  her  former  wail. 

Oh,  carnal  minds  there  is  a  cause, 

Unfettered  source  of  Nature's  laws, 
That  acts  beyond  great  Nature's  pale  ! 


fi 


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j 

ll  1 

j, 

1 

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f  ^  ■ 

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i 

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ll 

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w£k 


130 


AM  INT  A. 


LXXVI. 

Life's  strandlcss  thrccad  of  gossamer 
Attrite  by  every  pulse  and  breath, 
Is  snapped,  at  length,  by  viewless  death, 

Relentless  foe  that  hovers  near; 

But  dauntless  sounds  this  innate  cry  : 
*'  Not  all  of  me  shall  ever  die, 

Unhoused,  my  soul  but  quits  this  sphere." 


LXXVII. 

A  shadow  fell  o'er  outward  sense, 
A  veil  was  lifted  from  her  soul ; 
Dark  now  the  traveled  road  ;    the  goal 

Grows  brighter  as   she  journeys  hence. 
Now  moves  a  door  on  noistltr.s  hinge, 
Time  dies  upon  hereafter's  fringe — 

The  outward  shadow  grows  more  dense. 


A  MIXTA. 


131 


LXXVIII. 

Oh  moment  awful  'bovc  all  thought 
Ere  gives  the  heart  its  latest  heat ! 
Oh,  life,    stern  season  passing  fleet, 

How  vain  the  joys  you  anxious  sought ! 
Flesh  shackled  yet,  but  on  tlie  brink 
Of  spirit  life,  she  seems  to  sink 

A  speck  'mid   liglu  with  mystery  fraught. 


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BOOK     III 


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BOOK  III. 


'Twas  night.     Deep  o'er  the  City  of  the  Popes 
Hung  the  somniferous  pall;    the  bihorned  moon 
Now  gleamed  athwart  the  azure,  stilly  vault, 
While     spires     and     domes     and     arches    softly 

glowed 
In  checkered  silvery  light ;   now  hid  behind 
A  tleecy  bank  of  clouds,  shut  out  her  charms 
As  modest  virgin  veiled.     Heaven's  lesser  fires. 
When    dimmed    the    glory    of    their    beauteous 

queen, 
The  sleeping  city  palely,  dimly  wrapped 
In  evanescent  hues.      In  rippling  wakes 


5  '• 


WI'T 


^f^ 


136 


AMINTA. 


kr 


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f  i 


iM 


n 


That  playful  kissed  the  shore  flowed  rapid  on 
The  old  uxorious  stream ;    here  loath  to  quit 
Its  wedded  bride,  serpentine  bent  its  way 
In  dallying  currents  past  the  jutting  base 
Of  castle  wall ;  here  with  dashing  roar  it  struck 
The  prow-lii^e  point  of  that  once  sacred  isle 
Whither  in  serpent  form  /Esculai)ius  crept, 
When   borne    to  stay    the    ills   of   plague-bound 
Rome. 

I. 

Came  Coroman  to  papal  Rome, 

Fair  city  on  its  waning  hills  ; 

For  age  by  age  each  valley  fills 
With  ruined  walls  and  rain-borne  loam. 

Time's  signet  here  attests  the  truth, 

Rome  has  in  age  perennial  youth — 
Of  w^eary  hearts  the  very  home. 


AMIXTA. 


J/ 


II. 

Much  had  he  strayed,  and  suffered  more, 
Since  lorn  Aminta  from  his  boat 
His  words  rhapsodic  keenly  smote; 

Like  waves  that  never  reach  a  shore, 
Soul  yearnings  stirred  within  his  breast; 
No  beach  for  them  whereon  to  rest, 

They  surge  and  sigh  forevermore. 

III. 
With  Kant  he  sought  all  truth  to  scan  ; 

"Pure  Reason's  Critique"  was  his  lamj) ; 

He  thought  cognitions  owed  their  stamp 
To  nature  of  the  soul  in  man  — 

So  saycth  Kant,   and  Kant  is  king 

Of  owlets  who  on  feeble  wincr 
Have  swirled  around  outside  truth's  span. 


1     ■  i 


':)  #1 


'•'ir 


133 


AMINTA. 


IV. 

Objective  truth  for  them  is  not  ; 
Sensation  tells  what   to  it  seems, 
All  vain  are  its  delusive  dreams, 

Deception  is  our  joyless  lot : 

A  mind  thiv    liffered  in  its  mold 
From  o'.irs  would  other  concepts  hold  ; 

What  seems  a  mound  would  be  a  dot. 


;^f      : 


V. 

Thus  Coroman,  like  spider  keen, 

Found  warp  and  woof  whereof  to  weave 
Ideal  cobwebs  ;    some  may  grieve 

That  these  of  truth  have  but  the  sheen  ; 
Weak  error  'tis  of  weakest  minds 
That  self  to  truth  objective  blinds, 

And  makes  of  Science  doubt  the  Queen. 


!    ^^ 


AMINTA. 


VI. 


139 


m. 


With  Hegel,  Fichte,  and  all  that  crew 

Next  sought  he  truth  that  should  be  clear  ; 
But  German  lore,  like  German  beer, 

Is  stomached  only  by  the  few ; 

It  bears  the  froth  of  pompous  phrase, 
No  ray  of  reason  clews  its  ways, 

To  mind  and  sense  a  dreary  view. 

VII. 

Soul  sickened  of  his  weary  search, 
Ere  yet  to  Rome  his  steps  he  turned 
He  roved  where  fire  old  time  had  burned 

And  lava  now  the  scene  besmirch  ; 

"  How  like  my  state  !  "  he  might  have  sighed, 
"My  soul  laid  waste  by  skeptic  pride 

And  mad  revolt  against  the  Church. 


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tl 


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140 


A  MIXTA. 


VIII. 

''  I  burn,  but  not  with  healthy  fire  ; 
My  crucible  holds  naught  but  dross, 
Faith  perished  in  a  self-wrought  loss. 

My  faulty  heart  nursed  false  desire  ; 
Gold  there  had  been  in  tiny  threads 
Like  gossamer  the  sunlight  spreads 

On  peaceful  fields  when  winds  expire. 

IX. 

*'  Ah !  truth  betrayed,  I  mourn  in  vain  ; 
The  broken  hour-glass  holds  no  sand, 
Flowers  bloom  not  on  a  blighted  strand, 

And  years  once  lost  come  not  again. 
We  reck  not  days  in  riant  youth, 
For  fleeting  joys  we  barter  truth, 

Age  has  for  heritage  but  pain." 


tissm 


AMINTA. 


141 


X. 

Yon  mount  for  cycles  silent  lay, 
Its  crater  fair  in  verdant  ])ride, 
The  grape  vines  grew  adown  its  side, 

And  o'er  its  crags  did  wild  goats  play; 
Forgot  the  violence  old  time  heard 
When  substretched  Typhon  writhing  stirred 

In  vain  attempt  to  reach  the  day. 


I 

I    : 


.11   i 


XI. 

Pompeii  saw  its  bursting  flame 
With  wonder  not  unshorn  of  fear ; 
A  boiling  stream  comes  rushing  near, 

And  ashes  all  the  outlets  claim. 
The  ashy  rain  unceasing  falls, 
The  air  is  rent  with  fiery  balls  — 

Pompeii  now  is  but  a  name. 


?S3I 


iJ 


fl'CT^ 


. 


142 


AM  INT  A. 


XII. 

C)V)nc  in  a  day  the  work  of  years  ! 
Its  founts  and  temples,  vice  and  ciime 
Deep  buried  'neath  tlie  lava  grime, 

With  molten  stones  for  i)leading  tears. 
Thus  passion  burning  in  the  soul, 
Unchecked  by  reason's  firm  control. 

All  garnered  virtue  ruthless  sears. 


XIII. 

Lay  hid  to  man  for  ages  long 

The  streets  we  thoughtful  tread  to  day; 

Here  in  this  track  the  wheels'  rude  play 
These  ruts  had  worn  ;    yon  curbstone  strong 

Was  hollow  ground  by  passing  feet  ; 

Bv  this  dried  font  did  lovers  meet, 
And  there  loud  laughed  the  Idle  throng. 


A  MIXTA. 


XIV. 


143 


How  like  to  day  the  ages  fled  ! 

The  restless  hum  of  life  the  same ; 

A  thirst  for  gold,  a  dream  of  fame, 
A  ehase  for  joy  where  false  lights  led, 

Short  ranture  carking  cares  surround, 

Sin-mantled  bliss  delusive  found, 
Then  life's  short  sunbeam  deathward  sped. 

XV. 

Stern  Duty  with  her  brow  unbent 
Hid  roses  on  her  thorny  road  ; 
The  thoughtless  only  saw  the  goad, 

Nor  loved  what  seemed  a  long  sad  Lent  ; 
But  heroes  are  a  deathless  line. 
They  tend  stern  duty's  rimous  vine 

That  yields  the  juice  of  pure  content. 


■i 

i) 

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144 


A  MINT  A. 


XVI. 


U'liai  gives  thy  smile,   Parthenope  ? 

Not  far  thy  smitten  sister  lies  ; 

In  vain  the  lava  seaward  hies, 
It  may  not  reach  and  wither  thee. 

Afar  Misenum  guards  thy  bay, 

/Eulides  sleeps  'neath  its  clay, 
And  Ca[iri  loums   above  the  sea. 

XVII. 

For  idle  pleasure  thou  wcrt  burn ; 

Thy  founders  sprung  from  Grecian  race  ; 

In   t'lK'c  the  stage  held  honored  i)lace  ; 
Hence   Xero,   fearing  critic's  scorn. 

Judged  thee  the  spot  of  all  most  meet 

To  tread  the  boards  with  buskined  feet 


And  dance  to  sound  of  brazen  horn. 


A  MIXTA. 


M5 


XVIII. 

Not  far  there  stands  a  vacant  tomb  ; 
Erstwhile  a  noble  tenant  slept 
Its  walls  within;    Fame  vigil  kept 

And  shed  a  halo  round  its  gloom  ; 
Thy  dust,  oh  Virgil,  none  may  see, 
Thy  peerless  epic  speaks  of  thee  ; 

The  world  is  now  thy  lecture  room. 

XIX. 

Beside  this  vault  stood  Coroman  ; 

An  opal  glow  flushed  in  the  west ; 

Dark  sapphire  lit  each  wavelet's  crest, 
Or  playful  in  its  rij)ples  ran  ; 

In  purple  light  fantastic  crags, 

Deep  clefted  where  the  soft  earth  sags, 

Threw  round  the  bay  a  gorgeous  span. 
13 


M 


14^ 


AMINTA. 


i  \ 


XX. 

With  vale  and  hillock  interwove 
The  mountains  die  into  a  plain  ; 
Here  peasants  garner  sear-leaved  grain, 

God's  own  unfailing  treasure  trove  ; 
A  zigzag  path  that  vine  trails  hedge 
Leads  to  the  sleeping  water's  edge, 

O'er  rocks  that  erst  volcanoes  clove. 


XXI. 

Famed  Posilippo's  tunnel  gaped 

Away  beneath  the  rifled  vault. 

Grim  Time,  was  thine  the  ghoulish  fault 
To  wreck  the  tomb  friend  hands  had  shaped? 

Unharmed  by  tliee  tlie  tunneled  way 

An  egress  give?  .nee  Greeks  held  sway. 
To  spangled  lords  and  friars  caped. 


k 


f.-,i*  \ 


■ 


AMIXTA. 


H7 


xxir. 

On  Coroman  the  beauty  palled 

Of  sea  and  earth  and  life-filled  air; 
It  seemed  an  echo  of  despair 

To  his  chafed  soul  from  all  things  called. 
He  longed  to  love,  he  burned  to  know, 
But  like  a  crocus  'neath  the  snow 

From  warmth  and  light  his  soul  was  walled. 

XXIII. 

What  built  that  wall?     Ah!  speak  it  loud. 

The  pride  that  never  bent  the  knee, 

That  mocked  the  Christian's  prayer  to  Thee 
O  God,  who  dost  Thy  face  enshroud; 

Thy  footprints  here  the  wise  behold  ; 

The  sainted  pray  lest  they  grow  cold, 
And  only  laugh  fools  weak  as  proud. 


i! 


r  '■ 


148 


A  MINT  A, 


XXIV. 

Old  in  his  youth  !  an  awful  curse ! 

Avenger  meet  of  unbelief; 

This  canker  of  a  subtle  grief 
That  countless  hearts  'neath  laughter  nurse. 

^ons,  seed-gcrnis,  environment — 

This  jargon  bears  no  sweet  content; 
For  them  what  is  is  always  worse. 


li 


!  . 


XXV. 

Man  thirsts  to  know  creation's  cause ; 

Phenomena  sate  not  his  mind  ; 

Their  hidden  source  he  yearns  to  find, 
No  fact  concrete  can  make  search  pause  ; 

In  reason's  flight  he  bursts  the  gyves 

That  helpless  fetter  dumb  brute  lives, 
And  from  the  seen  the  unseen  draws. 


.  ,m*^^=  ■;»— 


AMIN-TA. 


149 


XXVI. 

And  yet,  oh   contradiction  strange, 
The  Maker  of  vast  Nature's  plan, 
Who  should  subjection  claim  from  man, 

For  painted  moths  some  hearts  exchange; 
But  soon,  by  sad  mischance,  bereft 
Of  pleasures  they  had  hoped  enfeoffed 

In  doubting  darkness  they  shall  range. 


if 


XXVII. 

Doubt  blights  the  heart,  unnerves  the  arm, 
With  furrows  seams  a  youthful  face. 
Of  joy  and  hope  destroys  all  trace, 

And  breeds  an  undefined  alarm. 
The  aged  young  are  social  bores  ; 
In  vain  for  them  earth  spreads  her  stores  ; 

They  gape,  they  yawn,  they  see  no  charm. 


% 

*»  j 


Ik! 


11 


■HHIIIlii 


150 


AMINTA. 


■4 


n^ 


i     iil! 


XXVIII. 

Slow  Coroman  descends  the  hill ; 
The  vacant  tomb  no  message  brings 
Of  future  hope  ;   he  moody  flings, 

Where  in  a  bower  the  throstles  trill, 
A  shriveled  clod  ;  the  joyous  note 
His  thankless  ear  reproachful  smote, 

And  hence  his  wish  their  voice  to  still. 


s  ■'' 


i) 


XXIX. 

These  are  the  days  of  passage  swift; 

We  rival  pigeons  in  their  flight ; 

The  tortured  engine  in  its  might 
Seems  guideless  as  a  ship  adrift. 

As  Coroman  from  Naples  sped 

A  gloomy  cloud  hung  overhead — 
Of  leaden  dun  without  a  rift. 


A  MIXTA. 


151 


XXX. 

Once  had  he  seen  its  analogue, 
On  distant   Metiz'  winding  shore 
When  from  Aminta's  heart  he  tore 

Love's  hope  by  his  harsh  epilogue. 

The  rushing  train  skirts  round  the  base 
Of  lava  hills  ;  their  onward  pace 

No  brooding  thoughts  the  wheels  can  clog. 


XXXI. 

*Tis  night  in  Rome  ;    our  hero  stands 
Where  grandly  Trevi's  fountain  plays  ; 
The  water  in  the  soft  moon  rays, 

Gleams  like  a  stretch  of  silvery  sands  : 
A  calm  is  in  the  upper  air, 
The  nether  world  like  Eve  is  f^iir 

When  fresh  from  God's  creating  hands. 


Hff"mW^B!^^HH^Wi«I 


1  ;      ■  ■ 

m 


I 


1  i4 


1^2 


AM  INT  A. 


XXXII. 

Twin  footsteps  tread  the  shadowed  street — 

For  lofty  walls  the  moonbeams  hide — 

Our  hero  sees  two  figures  glide 
Where  light  and  shadow  seem  to  meet : 

In  silent  mood  they  pass  him  by; 

His  soul  is  moved,  he  knows  not  why, 
And  fain  he  would  those  girl-forms  greet. 

XXXIII. 

Philosophy's  unfathomed  well 

Holds  secrets  hid  from  mortal  ken ; 
There  is  a  law  the  wisest  men 

Have  often  felt  but  may  not  tell  ; 
'Tis  as  the  soul  a  magnet  hung 
'Twixt  this  and  worlds  unseen,  and  swung 

Here  to  attract  and  there  repel. 


t 


AMINTA. 


153 


XXXIV. 

The  conscious  self  its  kingship  feels 

O'er  all  the  laws  that  matter  own  ; 

A  monarch,  seated  on  its  throne, 
Beyond  this  body's  marge  it  deals 

In  subtle  acts  on  cognate  souls  ; 

More  reaching  than  the  heart's  systoles, 
Its  will  no  cell-girt  captive  kneels. 


XXXV. 

And  thus  our  hero  seems  to  know 
The  unknown  forms  that  move  away  ; 
He  heeds  no  more  the  fountain's  play, 

But  follows  with  a  heart  aglow — 

Through  winding  streets,  up  sloping  hill. 
Where  Phidias'  statues  towerinir  still 

Link  old  to  new  in  storied  show. 


•    i  S 1      f  f  '; 

154 


AMIXTA. 


f '  V' 


XXXVI. 

Historic  palace  of  the  Popes — 

Defiled  though  now  thy  Conclave  Hall— 

Thou  standest  yet,  oh  Quirinal, 
Firm  planted  on  those  classic  slopes  I 

Our  hero  notes  thy  massive  walls 

Lit  by  a  ray  that  softly  falls, 
But  only  heeds  his  unshaped  hopes. 

XXXVII. 

Not  far  a  churcl. — a  quaint  old  pile. 
With  seams  deep  cut  around  its  base, 
Like  wrinkles  on  an  honored  face, 

An  added  beauty  gave  the  while  — 

Ope'd  on  the  street ;   clear  lights  within 
Shone  like  a  grace  dispelling  sin 

O'er  kneelers  in  the  nave  and  aisle. 


•■:f 


AMINTA. 


155 


XXXVIII. 

The  muffled  figures  sought  the  door ; 

Low  bent  they  in  adoring  mood ; 

Aside  our  hero  wondering  stood 
To  see  their  heads  bend  to  the  floor; 

The  hush,  the  calm,  that  filled  the  air 

Woke  in  his  heart  the  thought  of  prayer. 
And  long  forgotten  peace  of  yore. 


XXXIX. 

Far  up  the  nave  a  ring  of  light 

Gleamed  round  a  burnished  star  of  gold  ; 

What  pure  white  gem  doth  tliat  star  hold 
Which  seems  of  all  to  be  most  bright? 

A  beam  of  more  than  earthly  hue 

Shoots  from  the  gem;    it  passes  through 
The  darkness  of  his  soul's  dead  night. 


II 


ill 


<: 


f ! 

V 

M.     : 
1  s 

d 

156 


AAJ/.Vr.l. 


I!, 


l! 


XL. 

"Oh  saving  Host,"  the  chanters  sing, 
"  That  open'st  wide  the  heavenly  gates, 
Around  us  press  war's  venomed  hates, 

Give  strength  to  us,  and  help  quick  bring  I 
To  God  Triune  eternal  praise 
Who  life  will  give  with  endless  days 

When  to  our  home  our  flight  we  wing." 

XLI. 

Strange  fell  the  words  on  Coroman  ; 

In  startled  fear  he  turned  his  eyes 

Aloft  and  saw  with  rapt  surprise, 
Where  from  the  choir  a  grating  ran, 

Mathilda,  in  a  nun-like  dress. 

Her  face  a  pictured  lovliness. 
As  one  who  leads  the  angels'  van. 


A  MIXTA. 


15; 


XLII. 

xMatliilda?     Yes,  the  gentle  maid 

Had  sought  the  cloister's  blessed  rest ; 
Her  choice,  like  Mary's,  was  the  best, 

As  e'en  our  Lord  himself  had  said. 
By  night  and  day  the  saving  Host 
Is  there  enthroned,  their  loving  boast 

Perpetual  praise  to  Christ  is  paid. 

XLIII. 

Mathilda,  who  can  paint  thy  joy? 

What  tongue  can  tell  thy  holy  bliss? 

Love's  sweetest  pay  is  love.     Ah  !  this 
Thy  love  is  free  of  earth's  alloy. 

Grant  love  a  need  of  human  hearts. 

Yet  human  love  with  poisoned  darts 

Oft  seeks  a  victim  or  a  toy. 
14 


? 


I 


% 


H 


^:l 


■ 


158 


A.VLVTA. 


M' 


'Al 


XLIV. 

What  sees  she  mid  the  tapers*  glow? 
Half  lifted  from  the  floor  she  seems 
And  forward  drawn  toward  the  beams. 

Distended  eyes,  and  murmuring  low 
Sweet  words  of  love  and  trustfulness — 
No  sign  of  pain,  nor  of  distress, 

And  yet  great  tears  her  cheeks  down  flow. 


XLV. 

Our  hero  gazed,  and  gazing  saw 
Each  token  of  Mathilda's  love. 
"  Is  there  "  he  mused,  "  a  power  above 

That  human  hearts  can  sweetly  draw  ? 
Can  love  be  false  in  such  a  guise  ? " 
He  quaked,  for  from  Mathilda's  eyes 

In  burning  light  he  read  God's  law. 


1 


AMIXTA, 


159 


XLVI. 

As  well  the  noonday  sun  deny- 
As  truth  intuitive;  the  mind 
To  its  own  self  can  not  be  blind  ; 

The  living  feeling  subject  / 
With  inner  consciousness  is  fraught; 
The  truth  perceived  may  be  unsought, 

The  actual  known  but  not  its  why. 


XLVII. 

Around,  as  in  an  endless  lake, 
A  light  immutable  is  spread, 
Reflected  shadows  there  are  bred 

Of  verities  ;    the  Prophet  spake — 

"In  thy  light,  Lord,  the  light  we'll  see," 
From  this  each  mind,  in  its  degree, 

Doth  certitude  and  knowledge  take. 


I 

.!'■  i: 


!'^ 


t\  '^  '  I 


If.!.  . 


i6o 


AMINTA, 


XLVIII. 
Mathilda,  in  a  trance  of  prayer, 

Soul  wrapped  in  God,  heart  brimmed  with  love, 

Knows  bliss,  all  human  bliss  above. 
Free  from  the  pangs  earth's  joys  must  bear. 

Our  hero's  mind,  in  truth's  clear  light, 

Mathilda's  soul-bliss  reads  aright, 
The  cause  a  God,  he  knows  is  there. 


i'ft 


^i  ;. 


XLIX. 

He  knows,  yet  bows  not  to  belief, 
As  one  who  roams  uncanny  vales 
Made  weird  by  oft-repeated  tales. 

The  vale  traversed  he  feels  relief ; 
Indignant  at  the  fear  he  felt 
He  hides  the  pistol  in  his  belt. 

Nor  owns  he  (piaked  an  instant  brief. 


AMLVTA. 


I6i 


What  profit  in  this  senseless  lie? 
The  silly  pride  of  weakling  minds 
A  bliss  in  self-deception  finds. 

Small  brains  are  fitted  to  deny  ; 
Keen  intellect,  a   power  of  will, 
Fears  not  assent  ;    our  hero  still 

Gropes  willful  on.     Faith  is  too  high. 


LI. 

The  music  ceased  ;    a  prayerful  few 
Still  linger  in  adoring  mood  : 
A  shaven  monk,  in  cowl  and  hood, 

Who  once  a  world  of  sorrow  knew, 
Bent  to  the  floor  his  furrowed  brow; 
A  peace  well  won  shone  o'er  him  now, 

Then  silent  from  the  church  withdrew. 


h 


i 
1'  f 


M 


(' 


If 


'iii 


I 


''I 


1* 


;i 


162 


AMINTA, 


LII. 


What  saw  our  hero  in  his  gait  ? 

Why  turn  on  him  inquiring  gaze? 

He  could  not  tell  ;    strange  are  our  ways, 
Strange  meetings  on  our  footsteps  wait. 

And  now  the  two  who  led  him  here 

Arise,  and  moving  pass  him  near — 
What  phantom  this  ?  or  is  it  fate  ? 

LIII. 

The  downcast  eye,  the  winsome  face, 
Hid  not  of  life  that  written  page 
Which  told  of  love's  once  blighted  gage  ; 

He  saw,  enshrined  in  newborn  grace, 
Aminta  fondly  loved  of  yore  ; 
A  great  wave  rushed  from  the  before 

And  broke  upon  his  heart's  void  space. 


i 


AMINTA, 


163 


ys, 


LIV. 

The  wasted  years,  his  mind's  false  trend, 
The  love  he  reckless  cast  away, 
The  wild  unrest  since  that  dim  dav 

Which  gave  his  summer  dream  an  end, 
Aminta's  faint  and  wailful  cry, 
To  life's  romance  a  sad  good-by. 

O'er  his  stilled  heart  their  shadows  send. 


LV. 

Our  life  is  measured  not  by  years; 

Some  live  an  age  within  a  score; 

The  vital  acts  of  mind  are  more 
Than  length  of  days  -    'tis  thought  that  rears 

And  measure  gives  of  life's  grand  arch  ; 

'Mong  reason-dowered  they  furthest  march 
Who  coined  most  thoughts ;  not  whom  age  sears. 


'i; 


i 


Si 


if  i 


164 


AMINTA. 


LVI. 


And  Coroman  in  one  swift  glance 
The  story  read  of  many  days; 
He  lived  five  years  in  that  short  gaze 

And  woke  as  from  a  hideous  trance. 
What  soul  nepenthe  had  she  found, 
So  calm,  so  bright,  so  care  unbound. 

While  he  sad  buffets  'gainst  blind  chance. 


m 


:1 


J! 


[  . 

I 


LVII. 

What  snatched  Aminta  from  Death's  hand. 
Gave  to  her  pulse  life's  nectar  red, 
Brought  bloom  that  erst  her  cheeks  had  fled, 

And  health  to  seek  this  classic  land  ? 
Perchance  Mathilda  knew  the  cause — 
The  sublimating  of  life's  laws 

By  Faith,  the  Christian's  magic  wand. 


A  MIXTA. 


I6: 


LVIII. 

"  A  miracle  !  "  the  skeptic  sneers. 

"Are  then  the  ages  backward  turned? 

Have  all  we  taught  been  thus  unlearned? 
Does  Faith  still  live  despite  our  jeers  ? " 

Cease  jabbering,  ye  agnostic  crew, 

Learn  now  a  truth  ye  never  knew, 
God  acts  through  the  eternal  years. 


LIX. 

In  ordered  sequence  from  his  will 
Creation's  laws  their  birth  first  took  ; 
His  thoughts  beyond   their  blind  force  look 

And  plan  their  work  with  matchless  skill ; 
Invoked  like  artist  deft,  a  key 
At  will  is  touched  ;  the  harmony 

No  discord  knows  ;    laws  there  are  still. 


'Hi 


♦«■ 


ill 


U 


f  ti   ■    ; 


h\ 


1 66 


A  MIXTA. 


LX. 


Aminta  quit  the  holy  place, 

Rosina  silent  at  her  side — 

Gone  was  her  air  of  giddy  pride — 
To  sweet  Mathilda  bore  some  trace. 

Our  hero  moved  as  in  a  dream. 

Without,  where  fell  a  soft  moonbeam, 
He  saw  a  monk's  unhooded  face — 

LXI. 

The  same  who  late  the  church  had  left ; 
A  story  written  on  his  cheek — 
Fierce  passions  held  subdued  and  meek. 

Of  flame,  not  sense,  they  were  bereft; 
Peace  on  his  brow  her  signet  set, 
Hope  in  his  eye  with  patience  met, 

In  Faith's  strong  shield  there  was  no  cleft. 


{'■  1 


AMLVTA, 


IL\7 


'> 


LXII. 

Him  where  he  stood  our  hero  sought  ; 
No  purpose  fixed  his  footsteps  guide, 
He  only  hoped  an  aching  void 

Relief  might  find  in  exchanged  thought ; 
The  monk  a  moment  bent  his  eyes 
On  Coroman  with  veiled  surprise, 

Then  o'er  his  head  the  cowl  he  brought. 

LXIII. 


« 


What  meant  the  lights,  the  flowers,  the  song, 
The  incense  floating  through  the  air, 
The  hymn  intoned,   the  muttered  prayer, 
3ads  low  bowed  of  all  the  throng  ? 


And 


Is 


Doth  the  Unknown  such  homage  heed  ? 
Can  man  make  known  to  him  his  need? 
virtue  blest  and  curst  the  wrong  ? " 


■51  ^ 


I   < 


1 1 


I 


i  I 


i  • 


iii 


■'  1 


i's 


llri 


1 68 


A  MIXTA. 


LXIV. 

Thus  Coroman.     The  monk  unbent 
His  rigid  brow.     "  Behold,"  he  spake, 
"  Von  moon  as  in  a  sapphire  lake 

And  stars  that  glow  as  diamonds  rent, 
And  countless  thousands  dimly  gray — 
Fair  pavement  of  the  milky  \vay — 

That  seem  in  yon  faint   sky-path  blent 

LXV. 

"  To-morrow  morn  gaze  on  the  sun, 
A  sea  of  fire  by  cyclones  swept ; 
To  naked  eye  its  form  is  kept, 

Yet  o'er  its  face  what  changes  run  ! 
Eruptions  awful  in  their  might 
Spurt  vapor  fire  in  headlong  flight, 

But  die  ere  yet  the  day  is  done. 


AMIXT.U 


169 


LXVI. 

"Our  planet  in  its  orbit  whirls; 

One  season  but  anotiier  breeds ; 

The  harvest  whitens  from  dead  seeds, 
Death  in  its  folds  life  loving  furls. 

Creation's  tongue  proclaims  to  man, 

Above,  around,  law,  order,  plan, 
Of  them  each  rippling  brooklet  purls, 


LXVII. 

''Who  gave  the  law?    the  i)Ian  who  wrought? 

Of  order  who  the  artist  skilled? 

What  but  a  mind  all  knowledge  filled 
From  chaos  law  and  order  brought  ? 

First  cause  of  all,  first  motor  He; 

Seen  in  his  works— we  bend  the  knee. 
And  find  the  peace  your  heart  vain  sought. 

n 


'f;  I 


f  ^ 

J. 


II 


(  1 


I  ! 


n 


170 


A  MIXTA. 


LXVIII. 
*'  Our  God  is  known  through  reason's  light ; 

Dependent  causes  prove  a  first ; 

Long  though  the  chain,  as  spoken  erst, 
The  last  link  hangs  on  God's  own  might. 

In  fine  gradations,  from  the  clod 

We  rise  to  man,  the  work  of  God, 
With  soul  and  sense  and  freedom  dight." 

LXIX. 

Thus  spake  the  monk  ;    our  hero  sighed 

The  weary  sigh  a  thirsty  soul 

Search-bafilcd  gives  when  dark  the  goal, 
Or  met  a  stumbling-block  to  pride. 

"  The  same  old  tale — effects  and  cause  ! 

Grant  matter  with  its  complex  laws. 
No  God  is  then  I "  our  hero  cried. 


A  MIXTA. 


171 


LXX. 

**  Grant  matter— yes,  but  from  a  power, 

Existing  of  its  nature's  force, 

That  marked  for  stars  their  spheroid  course, 
And  set  for  all  of  death  the  hour. 

*  I  am  who  am '  defines  his  state, 

Before  him  falls  the  idol  F'ate — 
He  cares  for  man,  and  for  each  flower. 


al, 


LXXI. 

''Pierce  with  thy  mind  creation's  veil; 

Burst  fleshy  gyves  that  bind  the  soul; 

Force  is  unseen,  yet  its  control 
Is  of  the  strong  as  of  the  frail; 

A  Force  that  thinks,  a  Force  that  plans 

By  him  is  felt  who  thoughtful  scans 
The  earth  asleep  'neath  moonbeams  pale." 


Ml 


■  I 


)  . 


I 


B 


l|,M^ 


•M! 


;  ■■'! 


1 


t  ■- 


I 


172 


A  MIXTA, 


LXXII. 

Thus  si)ake  the  monk,  and  turned  away. 

Our  hero  thoughtful  sought  his  home; 

Fair  in  the  moonlight  seemed  old  Rome 
Siill  as  the  glades  where  dryads  play; 

Mathilda's  face,  so  pure,  so  calm, 

Before  him  rose.     Knew  she  a  balm 
To  make  life  worth  the  price  we  pay  ? 

•  •••••• 

LXXIII. 

The  restless  days  went  cycling  round  ; 

Gift-laden  moments  hurried  by; 

Few  grasped  the  gifts — the  moments  fly — 
Lost  graces  die  without  a  sound; 

Earth  moans  in  travail ;    monotones 

Of  saddest  grief  haunt  all  its  zones 
When  hands  at  eve  are  empty  found. 


A  MIXTA. 


»r3 


LXXIV. 

One  summer  eve  our  hero  strayed 

'Neath  shattered  arches,  crumbling  walls 
Of  Colosseum's  winding  halls, 
Where  now  a  vagrant  sunbeam  played. 
Within  the  circle,  near  the  cross — 
Glad  emblem  of  our  gain  and   loss- 
Two  maidens  knelt  and  fervent  prayed. 


LXXV. 

He  knew  that  form;    could  he  forget 
The  one  true  thought  of  all  his  years? 
Wild  heart -beats  born  of  unshed  tears 

Like  moaning  waves  spoke  of  regret. 
He  knew  the  story  of  this  place 
Where  martyred  thousands  won   the  race, 

But  with  their  blood  the  ground  did  wet. 


m 
U 


I- 


r     i( 


'f.  ! 


\t\' 


i 


m-  \ ' 


I    , 


174 


AMINTA. 


LXXVI. 

Fools  were  they,  then,  or  heroes  ?     Who 
Their  gory  death  for  firm  held  creed 
Would  rob  of  glory's  highest  meed, 

Or  scoff  that  they  to  dea^h  were  true  ? 
Yet  were  they  fools  if  life's  last  page 
Were  closed  alike  for  brute  and  sage 

When  death  had  all  relentless  slew. 

LXXVII. 

We  prize  the  true  ;    its  mien  we  know ; 

We  love  it  with  the  fair  and  good  ; 

Had  men  this  thought  but  understood 
Truth  as  a  cause  'twould  clearly  show  ; 

What  then  that  universal  truth 

Felt  in  old  age  as  in  our  youth 
But  God  whose  wonders   round  us  grow  ? 


- 


h  ■ 


AMIXTA. 


175 


LXXVIII. 

For  him  the  martyrs   tortures  bore  ; 

The  rack  and  dungeon,   fire,  and  beasts 
With  whetted  taste  for  human  feasts, 

Xo  terror  brought  to  minds  that  soar 
Beyond  to-day,  and  through  the  veil 
Of  fleshy  weft  catch  glimi)ses  pale, 

By  faith,  of  lights  on  heaven's  shore. 


LXX«X. 

In  mind  our  hero  sees  the  tiers 
Of  human  forms,  that  rose  around, 
Fierce  glaring  on  the  battle  ground 

Where  Christian  maidens,  void  of  fears, 
The  lion  and  the  panther  dared  ; 
The  brutes  ofttimes  their  meekness   shared; 

The  mob  to  wonder  turns  from  jeers. 


I',    i 


m- 


1': 

; 

1 

.) 

1 

1 

' 

176 


A  MIXTA. 


LXXX. 

He  heard  of  Agnes — noble  maid, 
No  sunbeam  bright  or  pure  as  she ; 
A  child,  with  woman's  majesty, 

C)r  angel  as  a  girl  arrayed  ; 

Fire  burns  her  not  ;    the  brothel's  taint 
Is  blotted  out  bv  thir,  sweet  saint 

Who  angel-veiled  within  it  prayed. 

LXXXI. 

Man's  hand  the  deed  of  murder  did  ; 
Beneath  the  axe  her  twice- crowned  head, 
With  lilies  pure  and  palm  blood  red. 

Fell  to  the  earth  ;  each  beauteous  lid 
In  death  still  modest,  o'er  her  eyes 
Soft  closed  ;   the  headless  body  lies 

In   seemly  form  her  foes  amid. 


ttiggmt 


' 


AMINTA. 
LXXXII. 

Can  this  sweet  child  be  dead  in  truth  ? 

Do  souls  so  pure  no  future  own? 

Are  they  at  hazard  hither  blown 
To  die  forever  in  their  youth  ? 

Sweet  Agnes !  child  of  all  my  dreams, 

E'en  Coruni  m  thy  i)resence  seems 
To  feel,  as    I  have  felt  in  sooth. 

LXXXIII. 

The  evening  shadows  grew  apace  ; 

Like  spirit-breathings  came  the  breeze; 

Blood  all  around  our  hero  sees — 
Blood  pleading  for  our  fallen  race  ; 

Fair  Agnes  floats  in  upper  air; 

He  sees,  he  cries,  "O  (iod,  but  spare 
My  soul!"  then  falls  uj'on  his  face. 


K7 


tv 


i 


1/8 


AMIXTA, 


\  I 


LXXXIV. 

The  shadows  deepen  round  the  cross, 
But  in  her  soul  Aminta  feels 
The  joy,  the  hope  its  light  reveals, 

And  notes  how  gain  is  boup^ht  by  loss ; 
Her  one  romance  of  earthly  love 
Sad  ended,  yes  ;   but  from  abo\  e 

Fell  o'er  her  grief  faith's  glittering  floss. 

LXXXV. 

Nor  killed  by  this  affection  deep, 

Nay  rather  widened  Love's  vast  scope 
Down  in  her  heart  there  lives  a  hoj)e; 

And  pure  emotions  vigils  keep. 
She  rises  now;  the  stars  are  out. 
Their  opal  beams  that  sport  about 

Reveal,  she  thinks,  a  man  asleep. 


ii^wiiaau 


AMINTA. 


179 


LXXXVI. 

He  rose  as  came  the  maidens  neir  ; 
Aniinta  saw  in  outline  i)ale 
Our  hero's  face  ;  she  drew  lier  veil 

And  shook  as  with  a  sudden  fear; 
Her  heart  sees  further  than  her  eyes, 
It  can  his  presence  recognize. 

It  can  his  heart's  pulsations  hear. 


LXXXVII, 

'Tis  he,  her  idol  once.     Ah  say, 

Ye  hearts  that  love  have  proved,  shall  she 

Hide  in  her  virgin  modesty 
This  knowledge  of  her  soul  ?     Shall  they 

Life's  sweetest  chapter  now  fcjreswear.^ 

Alone,  unloved,  with  fardeled  care 
Companionless  go  on  their  way  ? 


m 


i  !v 


1 80 


AMIXTA. 


LXXXVIII. 

Aminta  .sluwly  moved  along 

Where  ruined  arches  cast  their  shade 

Black  as  the  grief  his  words  once  made  ; 
N(H  now  forgotten . was  this  wrong; 

Love's  wounds  by  love  alone  are  healed ; 

'Gainst  him  her  heart  nmst  yet  be  steeled^ 
But  gentle  thoughts  are  growing  strong. 


'    \  ! 


LXXXIX. 

Next  morn  without  an  abbey  gate 

Stood  Coroman ;    changed  was  his  look 
And  gone  his  pride  ;   a  little  book 

He  held.     Again  can  this  be  fate, 

Or  ways  of  God  ?     Who  meets  him  now  ? 
Who   i>  this  monk  with  care-wrought  brow. 

Yet  with  an  air  of  peace  bought  late  ? 


' 


AM/X7A. 


I8 


xc. 


Our  hero  starts;    the  monk  looks  grave, 

Then  smiling  speaks  in  friendly  tone. 

"  "ruould  seem  that  each  to  each  is  known. 
So  needless  questions  we  can  waive; 

Within  our  Prior  will   hear  your  (luest  ; 

Perchance  you  seek,  like   Dante,  rest, 
The  boon  which  burdened   spirits  crave." 


XCI. 


"  1  come,"  our  hero  calmly  spake, 

"With  docile  heart  (lod's  truth  to  learn; 
Last  eve,  despite  my  purpose  stern, 

Before  his  light  my  soul   did  quake. 
My  pride,  my  doubt,  my  skei)tic  lore 
Fell  vancpiished,   broken— these  no  more 
My  soul's  great  thirst  for  truth  can  slake  " 

■      ,6       •       •       •       •       • 


r 

i 


i 


M^ 
I  f  1 


3  f 


182 


.1J//X/.I. 


XCll. 


Oay  now  is  the  scene  on  the  ohl   Roman   road, 
The  same  that  the  Sabines   l)reathing  vengeance 

trode 
When  back  to  the  heights  of  the   Palatine  hill 
Fled    Romulus  and  men,  their    brides    shrieking 

still. 

Out  from   the  gate  of  the   xNomentana   Way, 
Its    beauty    within,    stands    a     church    old    and 
gray  ; 

The  floor  on  a  level  with  a  fair  saint's  tomb, 
And    yet    though    thus    sunken    'tis    devoid    of 
gloom  ; 

A  shrine  since  the  days  of  Diocletian's  rule, 
The  fane  of   sweet    Agnes,  the  pride  of   Christ's 
school. 


AMl.XIA. 


IS; 


and 


XCIII. 

Maiden  of  Rome  so  fearless  in  youth, 
Noble  by  birth,  more  noble   by  truth. 
Dowered   with  wealth  and  beauty  of  face, 
More  peerless   still  by  thy  virgin  grace, 
neejj  in  thine  ey-s  men  oft  caught  a  gleam 
Such      as     from     heaven     half     opened     might 

stream. 
Walking  on  earth,  but  living  with  God, 
A  lengthened  span  in  brief  space  was  trod  ; 
To  a  heart  like  thine,   sealed  with  the  Cross, 
All  earthly  love  could  seem  but  as  dross. 
Fire  could  not  burn  a  body  so  pure, 
A  soul  so  chaste  no  temi)ter  could  lure, 
Man  in  his  freedom  alone  could  kill  : 
Asleep  in  death  thy  virtues  speak  still. 


'T' 


I.. 


t  ! 
1  I 


\  I 


iji 


iti 


U 


184 


AMIX  I  A. 


xciv. 

A  discalccd  monk  with  shaven  rrown 
Half  covered  by  a  cowl  of  serge — 
A  man   whose   years  on  forty  verge, 

His  brow  a  chart  where  grief   has  strown 
in  curves  and   seams  dark   reefs  of  woe, 
Yet  o'er  these  play  a  softened   glow 

As  from  a  light  that  falleth  down — 

xcv. 

Moves  with  the  crowd  ;    and  yonder,  too, 
Our  hero  comes  ;   dear  saint,  thy  day 
Brings  to  thy  tomb  all  Rome  to  pray. 

And  fair  Aminta,  sweet  and  true. 
Her  eyes  more  restful  than  of  yore, 
Seeks  with  the  throng  the  open  door 

And  passes  from  our  hero's  view. 


AMI\  J  A. 


IS; 


XCVI. 

Within  the  precincts  of  that  fane 
A  hush  as  at  creation's  dawn 
Unbroken  reigns;    the  i)relate's  lawn 

And  drover's  cloak  with  dust  and  stain, 
The  beggar's  rags,   the  lady's   r(»be, 
All  meet  and   touch  ;    pride  feels  no  i^robe 

When  faith  shows  class   distinctions  vain. 


xcvii. 


Oh   hearts  that  chafe  life's  frairil 


gde  thread 


In  ceaseless  yearnings  for  sweet  rest, 
Oh!  souls  that  stray  in  aimless  quest 
Of  joy  that  may  with   passions  wed, 
Oh  minds  that  hope  from  carthlv  st 


ream 


To  quaff  the  truth,  outgrow  your  dream  ; 
The  peace  of  knowledge  Faith  hath  spread. 


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XCVIII. 
So  felt  Aminta  as  she  i)rayed  ; 

A  widened  range  of  truth  she  viewed, 

And  in  its  light,  though  many  hued, 
Faith's  lessons  seem  more  full  disjjlayed. 

So  thought  our  hero  kneeling  here  ; 

His  wasted  years,  alas  !  were  near; 
He  we})t ;    but  joy  all  anguish  stayed. 

xcix. 
So  knew  the  monk  with  seamed  face  ; 

Tn  youth  the  light  of  truth  was  his  ; 

He  knew  (iod's  Church  forever  is, 
Yet  broke  her  laws  for  objects  base. 

Gonzalez  he  ;   repentant  now, 

Peace  in  his  heart,  and  on  his  brow 
The  signet  of  recovered  grace. 


AM  I  \  J- A. 


1 8; 


c. 

Yet  skeptics  still  will  taunting  yell, 
''What  then  is  truth?"  as  Pilate  erst, 
Nor  wait,  like  him,  iox  answer  durst, 

Lest  it  should  show  their   purpose  fell. 

Dark  is  their  dawn   and   black  their  night  ; 
One  thing  they  dread— Faith's  teaching  light. 

The   Faith  that  ])reaches  heaven  and  hell. 


CI. 


Sweet  muse  that  tuned  Cecilia's  lyre- 
Born  on  the  morn  of  Pentecost 
Of  light  sunernal— men  have  lost 

The  sense  for  thoughts   that  breathe  thy  fire  ; 
To  thee,  perchance,  some  day  FH  turn 
Our  hero's  after  fate  to   learn, 

Nor  wilt  thou  scorn  my  fond  desire. 


',! 


r; 


r 


If' 


III 


1^    f  ' 

i 
I*  ' 


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